


Mercy Mild

by Adderlygirl



Series: Ghosts [2]
Category: Adderly, Chuck (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adderlygirl/pseuds/Adderlygirl
Summary: At Christmas, Colonel John Casey and his family face a crisis, one shared by Chuck Bartowski and Devon Woodcomb.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written a holiday story before, and this probably bears more relationship to a mission fic than a holiday story. Maybe it’s just a holiday story in terms of timeframe?
> 
> Anyway, I thought I was finished with Casey and Riah and their daughter Victoria, but then I had an idea and began to play with it. Jack, the son Mariah was pregnant with at the end of Ghosts that Haunt makes an appearance, as do Walker and Chuck, the Bartwowski-Woodcombs, Morgan and Alex, Ilsa, and a few others from Forging a Life and Ghosts that Haunt. This is far shorter than those, and the plan is to post daily in order to finish Christmas Day.
> 
> The story moves back and forth between Victoria’s and Casey’s points of view.
> 
> Warnings: Bad language, descriptions of violence, kidnapping, child endangerment.

Victoria Casey couldn’t remember ever having been so cold in her life. She wondered how her grandpa Ben and her aunt Emma could stand it—Clara, either, for that matter. Clara Woodcomb barely seemed to notice as they waited for Mummy and Aunt Ellie. It was snowing, and the big, soft flakes were kind of pretty against the buildings and trees they coated. They were also cold and wet, which Victoria didn’t care for at all. Like Clara, she had been born in southern California, where it was warm most of the time, but Mummy and Daddy moved to Maryland not long after Clara and her family moved to Chicago when both girls were little. While it sometimes got really cold and snowed in Maryland, it was nothing like this.

Apparently, Chicago was different.

They had something called lake effect snow, and when Uncle Devon had explained to her what that was, Victoria had wanted to stop him and tell him she wasn’t a moron. Mummy got really mad when Victoria did that, and Daddy wasn’t very happy about it, either, so Victoria simply listened and tried to hide her impatience. She really wanted to call him a moron, though, but Mummy usually blamed Daddy for teaching it to her—although Mummy generally allowed that at least Victoria no longer called other people morons. Daddy used to give her one of his Talking To’s when she called someone a moron, but some of the time she had the feeling he agreed with her assessment.

Chicago had other snow, too, and it was that kind that was falling at the moment. Daddy had grumbled at lunch about having to shovel the damn snow, and then he’d gone outside and done it. Looking at the thickening layer of white on the sidewalk and on the steps leading to the porch, Victoria figured he would have to do it again when he got home.

The front door to their house opened, and she turned to see Mummy, Jack, and Aunt Ellie come outside. Mummy had Jack by the hand, watched him walk, which he wasn’t particularly good at sometimes.

Mummy, for some reason loved the cold and snow. Daddy usually said it was insanity from her side of the family, but sometimes he said it was because she grew up in the tundra and then would add something about her being Canadian before Mummy gave him that look of hers.

Victoria gave the snow one of Daddy’s glares and wondered how long it took to get frostbite. Daddy had told Mummy when he came back in from shoveling the snow off the walk earlier that he thought he had it, so she should warm him up. When Daddy put his hands under her shirt, Mummy had shrieked, jerked away from him, and kind of wriggled like she’d seen a mouse or something, but then she had leaned into him and kissed him for a long time. When Daddy slid his hands under the back of Mummy’s shirt while he kissed her, Mummy just moved really close to him. If Daddy hadn’t had to go meet Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck because they had to work, he probably would have made Mummy go upstairs to their room and done what Grandpa V. H. wasn’t supposed to call unspeakable things anymore.

Grownups were just weird, Victoria knew, but it seemed like she knew the weirdest ones.

Take Uncle Chuck, for instance. He was a lot of fun, but sometimes he was really strange. Now and then someone would say something or he’d see something, and his eyes would droop partly closed and his mouth would drop open a little bit. Then, when that expression that looked a lot like when Jonas Cahill had a seizure was gone, Uncle Chuck would talk a mile a minute about things that didn’t make a lot of sense, and then he and Aunt Walker and sometimes Daddy would leave.

That had happened on Victoria’s seventh birthday last month. Mummy had been upset, but she didn’t say anything when they ran out of the house. She, Grandma Jane, Aunt Dena, and Aunt Ellie had just continued fixing dinner while Aunt Julie and Grandma Ariel said bad things about Daddy. Mummy finally told them to shut up, and Victoria had hugged her mum, who was just as upset about Daddy leaving as she was. Victoria didn’t like it when Grandma Ariel was mean about Daddy, but she knew Aunt Julie only did it because she thought it was funny. It wasn’t funny, but it seemed to make Aunt Julie happy. If Daddy had been there, he would have been mean right back to her.

At least Daddy and Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker came back in time for cake, even if they missed supper.

As she stood in the falling snow with Clara and waited for their mums to come down the snowy steps with Victoria’s little brother, she wondered when Jack would fall down. It seemed like Jack couldn’t stay on his feet most of the time, though their dad usually told her to have a little patience when she complained about it. “He’s not a Weeble,” Daddy grunted once when she griped about Jack being a klutz. Victoria had stared at him and wondered what a Weeble was.

Whatever it was, like Jack, it must only have two speeds: run and crash. She told Daddy that once as he picked a crying Jack up from the floor in his office at home. Jack had crashed into the gun safe because he was running on the hardwood floor in his sock feet and couldn’t get stopped. Daddy had grunted, and Victoria was pretty sure it was the one he used when he wanted to laugh but knew he shouldn’t.

Clara was lucky she didn’t have a little brother. She thought two-year-old Jack was cute. Victoria rolled her eyes at that idea, especially since at that moment, walking in the snow with Mummy, he looked like a blue starfish in his mittens, parka, snow pants, and boots.

She was pretty sure Mummy was only letting him walk because he wouldn’t stay in his stroller and because it wouldn’t roll in the snow very well.

They were going to Molly’s for cupcakes. When Clara and Victoria got too far ahead of their mums and Jack, either Aunt Ellie or Mummy called for them to slow down. Sooner or later, Victoria knew, Jack would grow tired, and then Mummy would have to carry him. They could all go faster when that happened. Until then, Clara chattered about stuff that didn’t always interest Victoria. Clara was a girly-girl, all into pink and Hello Kitty and stuff. Victoria didn’t mind pink, and Hello Kitty was kind of cute, but she was more interested in spy stuff and books.

Mummy had bought a row house not far from Grandpa Ben and Aunt Emma’s house earlier that year when General Beckman told Daddy she was going to send him to Chicago for work. General Beckman had only wanted Daddy to go, but Daddy had apparently told the General they were all going with him since he wasn’t the one undercover (Victoria had overheard that when she was being sneaky and avoiding Jack). When Daddy grumbled about Mummy buying the house instead of renting something, Mummy told him that it was a good investment and that when they went to Chicago for visits when his job was finished, she didn’t want to stay with Ben and Emma, nor did she want to stay in hotels. Mummy didn’t like being in strange places, so Victoria figured it was because Mummy liked having her own place. There really wasn’t any yard, not like at home, anyway, but there was lots of room for everyone to stay with them.

It was over a week until Christmas, but Alex and Uncle Morgan were supposed to be there the next night, and both her grandmas were supposed to come in a few days, though Grandma Ariel would stay with Aunt Emma and her dad. Aunt Julie and Aunt Dena were coming, too, but Grandpa V. H. had promised only that he would be there in time for Christmas.

When Victoria had asked Daddy if they were ever going home again, he assured her that they wouldn’t be in Chicago forever. Victoria was glad because she didn’t like the school she went to or the cold, and she missed her friends in Maryland.

“Girls!” Mummy called, and she and Clara turned once more to look back. Jack had finally insisted on being carried, and as she watched Mummy pick him up, Victoria noticed a man behind them stopped, too, turned and pretended to scrape his boots off on a curb. Something was wrong, she thought, and then she realized the man’s boots were already clean of snow.

She frowned, wondered if she should tell Mummy about the man.

When they got to Clark Avenue, they turned left walked toward Molly’s. Further up from where they were going was the pancake place Daddy sometimes took Victoria and Jack to when Mummy slept late on weekends. They stopped now and then and looked in a couple of shop windows along the way. Victoria would have been bored, but she found herself watching for the man she had seen scraping boots that didn’t really need it. He appeared to be following them since she kept seeing him. Once Victoria saw him talking to an older woman who was kind of pretty.

There was something kind of familiar about that woman, so Victoria tried to remember where she had seen her. She wore a fur hat and coat—that would have made Mummy mad, and Daddy would have teased her for it if she complained. What Victoria could see of the woman’s hair was brown. Victoria couldn’t see her eyes, but she was taller than Mummy, maybe as tall as Aunt Ellie but not as tall as Daddy, Uncle Chuck, or Uncle Devon.

Victoria had a cell phone, though Mummy didn’t know it. She had promised Daddy when he gave it to her that she would never use it unless she or Jack or Mummy was in danger. Daddy had six numbers programmed into the phone: his, Mummy’s, Uncle Chuck’s, Aunt Walker’s, General Beckman’s, and Grandpa V. H.’s. His instructions included the order in which she was to call people if it became necessary: Daddy first, then Mummy (if she wasn’t with Victoria and wasn’t in danger), Aunt Walker, Uncle Chuck and her grandpa. General Beckman was the last resort, Daddy insisted. Victoria had also promised Daddy that she would charge it every night and always take it with her, even to school. It had become habit since they moved to Chicago to stick it in her coat pocket, and she had done so before they left the house. Now she wondered if she should call Daddy and tell him about the man following them.

Daddy would ask her to describe the man, so Victoria memorized what he looked like: Almost as tall as Uncle Chuck but heavier. He had black hair and should really be wearing a hat. His hair was cut really short, kind of like the soldiers and sailors she sometimes saw Daddy with. His skin was really pale, kind of like milk or the falling snow, so his whiskers showed. Victoria wasn’t sure if he didn’t shave every day or if he was one of those guys who always had beard showing. He wore a black wool coat that had slivers of wood that fit through loops down the middle of his chest instead of buttons and had a hood he wasn’t wearing, dark pants, black boots kind of like Daddy’s old combat boots, and a gray scarf.

Once they were in Molly’s, Victoria slipped her hand in her coat pocket and touched the phone, considered whether or not she should call Daddy. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed the man walked past the cupcake shop. Maybe he hadn’t been following them after all.

Clara told her, “I’m getting chocolate with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles.”

Victoria leaned around the woman in front of them and eyed the display case. When Daddy brought them here, he usually got vanilla, which made Mummy laugh. Victoria didn’t know why vanilla was funny, but apparently Mummy thought it was when Daddy ordered it. Daddy’s face usually got red when Mummy teased him about it. Mummy always got the dark chocolate raspberry and ate it with a fork. Daddy used to tease her about the fork, but Mummy finally gave him a look, kind of like if he didn’t shut up about it she might stick it in him. It was kind of scary, but it made him stop teasing her about eating cupcakes with forks.

Mummy usually got Jack a chocolate cupcake with vanilla buttercream frosting. Victoria tried something different each time. This time, though, she got vanilla with vanilla frosting. The lady behind the counter asked if she wanted sprinkles. She shook her head, wished Daddy was there as she saw the man in the black coat walk past the bakery again. Maybe she should tell Mummy about the man, she thought as they moved to the register where Mummy ordered milk for them while Aunt Ellie waited for coffee.

They all crowded around a table by the door. Victoria and Clara sat in the chairs with their backs to the rest of the bakery while Mummy and Aunt Ellie sat on the bench along the wall with Jack between them. This time the woman in the fur coat walked past, and Victoria set her cupcake on her plate and looked at Mummy. Mummy was wiping frosting off Jack’s hand where he’d stuck his fingers in her cupcake. “Finish your cupcake,” Mummy told her, nodded at the plate in front of Victoria, and then used her fork to cut a small piece off hers for Jack. He must have got some of the raspberry inside because he made a face and stuck his tongue out with the chewed cupcake stuck on it.

Clara giggled. Victoria rolled her eyes, disgusted. _Brothers_.

On the way home, Mummy decided to stop in the grocery store. Mummy really preferred the store on Diversey, Victoria knew, but it wasn’t on the way back to their house. She trailed her mother up and down the aisles as she found what she needed while Jack and Clara went with Aunt Ellie. The man had followed them into the store, and occasionally Victoria saw him ducking around the end of an aisle.

Victoria was torn. She knew Daddy and Grandpa V. H. worried about Mummy’s safety, Victoria’s, too, so she felt she should stay near Mummy just in case the man was a bad man. Victoria wasn’t supposed to know that people had taken Mummy before. Grandpa V. H. had told her about it over the summer when she, Jack, and Mummy went to Canada for a week while their row house was being redone and Daddy was somewhere overseas. Victoria was the same age her mum had been when that happened. Daddy often told her she had to watch out for Jack, too, though, so she wondered if she ought to follow him and Clara. Mummy could usually take care of herself, after all.

If Mummy didn’t have such a thing about guns (something Daddy blamed on her being a communist—which Victoria knew was his word for Canadian when he wanted to make Mummy mad), she wondered if Daddy might have let Victoria have her Beretta U22 Neo that Mummy was not supposed to know about. She was too young to get a conceal carry permit, which would let her carry the gun so Mummy wouldn’t know. When she told Daddy it wasn’t fair, he’d given her an amused look before telling her, “People get funny about little girls with guns, kiddo.”

Daddy always took Victoria for a day every other week when he was home, and they did things together, just the two of them. Last year, Daddy took her to a gun store the day after her birthday and bought her the Beretta. He taught her how to disassemble the gun into its five parts and clean it. He taught her how to load and unload it and how to put the lock on it in case Jack found it. Her little brother wasn’t quite old enough to learn how to crack safes, though, so Victoria figured he wouldn’t be finding it until Daddy had time to teach him, especially since Daddy made her keep it in the gun safe in his office with his guns.

On some of those days when it was just the two of them, Daddy took her to the gun range and taught her to shoot the Berretta. She was pretty good, got better the more they went, but that had happened less since they came to Chicago. Now she wished she had it with her.

Mummy rolled her cart down several aisles even though she was obviously finished shopping since she didn’t look at any of the things on the shelves. After they walked all the aisles, Mummy frowned and asked Victoria, “Where’s your brother?”

“He went with Clara and Aunt Ellie.”

They searched the store, but they couldn’t find them. Mummy was pale and having a little trouble breathing as she talked to the woman behind the service counter. Victoria looked for the man she’d seen following them because she had a really bad feeling.

\----------X----------

Colonel John Casey was bored beyond belief. He’d been bored since Beckman sent him to Chicago, and he sincerely hoped this particular assignment wrapped up before Christmas, which was about a week and a half out. He had plans for Riah, Victoria and Jack, but if they were still stuck in Chicago, he’d have to alter those plans.

He focused on the monitor before him, watched for Bartowski’s cue to take the stage, hoped that for once the kid remembered his most recent hard lesson, and considered whether or not they would catch the break that would let them drop their latest bad guy in the dark hole reserved for him and return to their lives. His own life was more complicated than it had been when he first met Chuck, but he couldn’t exactly say he was sorry.

If someone had told him nine years ago that he’d find himself in his mid-fifties settled with a wife and two young children, he’d have demanded a toxicology screen to see what in hell they had been smoking, snorting or injecting. He’d decided years before he’d never marry, never have children because his job meant he’d short-change them. Then Operation Moron happened, and not only did Casey find himself married with two small children, but he had discovered he actually enjoyed domesticity—not that he was ever going to admit that. It helped that Riah didn’t interfere with his job, didn’t get upset when he took off on assignment.

Of course, that happened a lot less since he had taken a promotion, moved up into the equivalent of management with the NSA, which meant a lot less danger—and a lot more boredom, if he were honest. That job usually kept him close to home, so Riah had little to complain about, though she almost never did, and she certainly hadn’t before he made the move. He sometimes wondered if his inability to deal well with boredom was why she didn’t mind the occasional assignment that put him back in the field and got him out from under foot. Usually, those assignments he accepted that took him from home involved Bartowski and Walker (Casey refused to call Walker by her married name after she and Bartowski got hitched because it was just too damn confusing), and he had reached the uncomfortable conclusion that his wife believed that pair could keep him safe.

The truth was that sometimes he was simply the right man for the job, and when that happened, Riah generally helped pack his bags and kissed him goodbye—which might have bothered him if he hadn’t seen genuine worry and occasional fear in her eyes when she let him go. He knew that fear went well beyond the usual concern of wives whose husbands left for work because Riah knew the potential hazards in his job were far greater than a car wreck or a plane crash on the way to or from his assignment.

When the Chicago operation came up, Casey nearly turned it down, nearly suggested someone else, mainly because it was obviously going to take months of cultivating and juggling many assets, and he didn’t want to be away from his wife and kids that long. Finally, Beckman reluctantly agreed that Riah and his children could go along with certain restrictions. Riah had readily accepted his boss’s conditions, and even Casey had been surprised (and a little suspicious) that the General hadn’t asked for more than that his wife was not involved in his assignment, that when he was called he came—no exceptions, no matter what might be happening to or with his family—and that they all kept a low profile.

Riah was supposed to rent a place for them in a good school district since their then six-year-old daughter would likely start the school year before they were able to return to Maryland. Instead, Riah bought a graystone in Lincoln Park near her stepfather’s home and renovated the hell out of it. When Casey complained, she had simply pointed out that she had family in that area of Chicago, and because they visited her sister regularly, it would come in handy. She had further explained that it had enough room that if his own family visited, they could easily put all of them up. Riah had then given him that smug little grin of hers and told him, “Be glad I didn’t buy the place I liked in Boystown.”

He knew the real reason she hadn’t followed orders was that she wanted her own space, wanted the security that could be found in their own home as opposed to a rented place, and he had to admit he liked having somewhere that was theirs as well—particularly since Riah had created a large master suite that afforded them the kind of privacy they generally didn’t have in Maryland. He especially liked that they were close enough to Victoria and Jack that they were within easy reach of their children but far enough away that the kids didn’t hear things they shouldn’t. What he hadn’t particularly liked was living in the middle of chaos while the workmen transformed the place and his wife furnished it.

The restoration was beautifully done, but Casey had made sure the kind of extras he felt necessary for their safety were incorporated into the plans—after the non-agency builders had finished their work.

Beckman thought it was an added benefit that Ellie Bartowski and her husband were relatively nearby. Casey suspected his boss would want to borrow it for other operations after this one finished, and he wondered what his wife would have to say when the request came.

If they were still there for Christmas—and he sincerely hoped they weren’t still in Chicago—there was even room enough he wouldn’t have to listen to his other daughter, Alex, and the bearded troll she had married in their own room. He’d already decided to put them on a completely different floor in the opposite end of the house from where he and Riah slept.

Even though it killed him, Casey had to admit Morgan Grimes had made a great husband for Alex. Grimes took exceptionally good care of Casey’s oldest daughter. Now that she was pregnant, that mattered more to Casey than the annoyances large and small he had put up with from the younger man over the years. Besides, when Victoria had been a baby, Grimes had taken surprisingly good care of her, so Casey knew his son-in-law would take care of his grandchild with equal diligence.

He shook his head, grinned since there was no one in the surveillance van with him to see it, and thought about being a grandfather when his own son wouldn’t even have turned three by the time Alex gave birth.

Victoria wanted a niece, Casey knew, but that was mostly because she had little patience with her brother. He was pretty certain Victoria wouldn’t have had a lot of patience with a little sister, either. His younger daughter thought Jack was useless because he was only just beginning to gain control of his limbs. The boy was as different from Victoria as it was possible to be, he reflected. His daughter, as his wife often liked to remind Casey, might resemble her mother, but in terms of personality, she primarily took after him. Occasionally he had to remind Riah that while Victoria was prone to action, she tended to think her actions through before she committed herself. That, he knew, she got from her mother as much as she did from him. Their daughter was generally a sensible child, though her parents’ natural caution didn’t always factor into the actions Victoria chose.

They were working on that, though, Casey reflected as he adjusted the sound on Bartowski’s wire. Victoria had a sense of self that would have done most grownups proud, but her absolute certainty that she would always prevail gave even Casey a few qualms. She was surprisingly self-possessed, something Riah insisted she got from him, though his wife usually added things like _single-mindedness_ and _stubbornness_ to the list. Occasionally _pigheaded_ or _incorrigible_ made the litany if she was particularly pissed off and depending on what Victoria had done that his wife thought he’d encouraged. Casey didn’t see anything wrong with being intensely focused on the matter at hand or with sticking to one’s guns.

Their son, though, was a quieter child, both verbally and in terms of action. Jack generally didn’t chatter, though occasionally he would launch into verbal diarrhea. He usually seemed happier just taking it all in. He was also more observant than his sister, and he had a level of recall for what he saw and heard that was often astounding given his age. It sometimes took some doing to understand the toddler-speak, but the kid was a like a sponge. Casey conceded that was all his mother.

It also was cause for worry for Riah. She was afraid someone might see what appeared to be an eidetic memory when Jack was old enough to really talk as an invitation to see if he would make a viable Intersect. Casey often reminded her that the same was true for Victoria, though their daughter’s capacity for recall seemed strongest when it came to what she heard, and it had been years since someone targeted her.

Since Mission Moron ended, the CIA engineers had managed to find ways to let people take the Intersect without risk, but they had also begun to see limitations in having someone have it long term. Bartowski was the only one who ever had—Casey dismissed Riah, who was careful to never let anyone tamper with whatever remained mostly dormant in her head. There was something unique about Chuck that let him manage it, cope with it in ways no one else had ever been able to. Ellie quietly monitored her little brother’s mental health, though, had figured out a few things about her father’s work that others had missed, and had helped regulate the Intersect her brother still had. Ellie’s contributions to Bartowski’s mental stability were of great interest to the CIA, but like her father before her, she was unwilling to disclose any more than she had to about her own work with the Intersect. She’d seen first-hand what the costs were, so Casey didn’t blame her.

On the monitor, Ellie’s little brother was getting ready to make his debut, so Casey set aside his ruminations on family. At that moment, the matter at hand was catching an industrialist who had been a very bad boy. Win Bridges was an arms manufacturer doing deals with bad guys for weapons he wasn’t supposed to make for or sell to civilians. Casey, Bartowski, and Walker had been dragged in because Carina Miller was undercover with some hillbilly mafia who were branching out from manufacturing meth to building a small, antigovernment army. It was a series of hate crimes waiting to happen, but the greater concern had become Bridges’ growing penchant for arming some of Uncle Sam’s enemies.

Casey wasn’t sure why the ATF and the FBI didn’t just go into the backwoods and take the hillbillies out. Most of the hillbillies’ crimes were petty or drug-related, but the firepower they had amassed was intimidating. Add to that the fact that they were playing with the Chicago Outfit and the Russian mafia, and the threat level was high enough Casey and his team had been sent to put an end to it. The arms manufacturer was going down, mainly because his new friends were helping get weapons to international scumbags.

He had to give Bartowski credit. The kid had followed the script, admittedly in his own inimitable way, and that afternoon would be make or break for the operation. If Bartowski could continue to do as he was told, the kid would finally get inside Bridges’ organization where he would have a front row seat that ought to let them quickly wind things up, with any luck, by the holidays.

The sour note for Casey was playing with the FBI.

At least Alan Dietrich was his liaison for this, so Casey generally didn’t hear from Beckman about his attitude and the need for better interagency cooperation. He and Dietrich went way back, worked well together. That didn’t mean he didn’t take a few shots at the Bureau, but since Dietrich took a few of his own at the NSA, it was generally a draw.

The door to the van popped, and Dietrich climbed inside. “You about ready for your boy’s entrance?”

Casey shrugged. He was strictly surveillance on this part of the gig. One of the Russians was a personal enemy, and he’d met with Bridges on his agency’s behalf several times before they knew the full extent of what he was up to. Beckman had agreed it was best if neither of them connected Casey to this operation. This time, they had to work with one of the Bureau’s mob experts, a guy who had managed to infiltrate the Outfit enough he could vouch for Bartowski and would then get out of the way. Bartowski was playing arms dealer in this scenario, and Walker rode along as assistant.

This could go all to hell in so many different ways that Casey felt more unease than he normally would. He trusted Walker to have the kid’s back, but Bartowski, despite considerable skills even outside the Intersect, was still a wildcard at the best of times, even more so when crunch time came, and this was definitely crunch time.

“Richardson will feed the kid his cue soon,” Dietrich said and got comfortable. After a few moments of silence, he offered, “Gina says you should bring your wife and kids over for dinner next week.”

“With any luck,” Casey returned, “we’ll be on an island by next week.” Dietrich didn’t need to know that wasn’t going to be a tropical island. He had decided it was time Riah faced a few ghosts. She hadn’t returned to Newfoundland since the Christmas after Victoria was born, nor had she put her house there on the market. As far as he knew, her mother and her sister used it from time to time, but it had otherwise sat empty. Her father had dropped several broad hints his wife refused to pick up on, and her mother had asked several times about the place. Riah simply refused to speak about it, and that had begun to worry everyone.

Well aware his wife truly hated surprises, Casey knew Riah was going to be pissed as hell when they got there, but he’d make it up to her, see she got over it.

Purely to mitigate her anger—not as any kind of cover—Casey had made sure he invited their families along, though Riah thought they were all coming to Chicago to spend the holidays in the newly renovated row house. Their mothers, her father, Alex and Grimes, Emma and her father, and his sister Julie and her partner Dena would all be there. Jenn and Jan had other obligations that meant their families would be unable to go with them. Ariel had agreed to provide transport from Chicago to St. John’s, and Casey had invited Paul Patterson simply because Riah liked the man, worried about him being alone for the holidays. He just hoped Bartowski could quickly get the goods or flash and they’d be able to go. Otherwise, they’d have to shift gears and spend the holiday in Chicago as Riah still believed they would.

Just as he was about to taunt Dietrich, his phone rang, and he heard a ringtone he’d always hoped he would never hear.


	2. Chapter 2

Victoria’s daddy had told her to only use the cell phone he gave her in case of fire, blood, or imminent death. Victoria figured the last one applied since she’d overheard enough of Daddy and Aunt Walker’s friends talk about their spy jobs to know what happened if someone was kidnapped, and she was pretty sure Aunt Ellie wouldn’t take Jack and Clara somewhere without telling Mummy. To Victoria, that meant they had probably been stolen.

She stayed with the store clerk when Mummy told her to, sat behind the counter and listened as the clerk helped people, and worried about her mum. Mummy finally came back, pale and breathing harder. She told Victoria to stay where she was. Victoria took the phone out of her pocket and turned it on. Then she pushed the number that would automatically call Daddy while Mummy went back through the store and searched again, just in case.

Daddy didn’t like being interrupted at work, so she expected him to sound really cranky when he answered. Instead, his voice was soft and kind of worried. Victoria knew Daddy worried, but this time he sounded almost scared, even though Daddy was never scared. “Victoria?”

“There was a man following us, and now Aunt Ellie, Clara and Jack are gone,” she blurted out. She watched her mum, who had gone pale and struggled for breath, return. “I think they were stolen. Mummy’s having trouble breathing.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

She told him. Daddy’s voice was muffled enough she couldn’t hear his words, so Victoria figured he’d covered his phone to tell somebody something.

“Hand the phone to your mom,” Daddy said when he uncovered it again.

Victoria knew it was rude to interrupt grownups when they were talking, but she figured this was more important. She tugged at Mummy’s sleeve. When her mum looked down, Victoria handed her the phone. “It’s Daddy.”

Mummy frowned, looked at the phone. Victoria thought she might be in trouble. “John?” Mummy asked. Victoria noticed she relaxed a little when she heard whatever Daddy said to her. “They were right here,” Mummy told him, “but now they’re gone.”

Victoria waited as patiently as she could, hoped Daddy was coming because she was certain he could find them. In the meantime, she looked over the counter and into the store for the man, who also seemed to have vanished.

Mummy frowned hard, then she looked at Victoria. Once more, she thought she might be in trouble, but Mummy simply put a hand on her back and moved her from behind the counter to a corner of the store where there wasn’t a lot of merchandise or people but they could still see the front doors. “I don’t know about a man,” she said carefully, and then she asked Victoria, “What man did you see?”

She shrugged. “When we left the house there was a man watching. He pretended to scrape his boots off, but they were clean. He kept following us. I saw him twice while we were at Molly’s, and he came in the store after we did. Then everyone disappeared.”

Her mummy knelt in front of her. “What did he look like?”

“He was tall, but not nearly as tall as Daddy and Uncle Chuck,” she told her mum. “He had a black coat, one kind of like Paddington Bear wears.”

She had found Mummy’s old Paddington Bear books when they last visited Grandma Ariel. Victoria liked the stories, but she hadn’t yet convinced her parents that she should get two birthdays like Paddington. She liked that Paddington, just like her daddy, gave people hard stares when he was displeased.

“What else?” Mummy prompted.

She closed her eyes a minute to picture him. “He had a gray scarf, and his black hair was really short like a soldier’s. His nose was kind of squished like Major Clack’s.” Victoria frowned a moment. “He walked funny, kind of rolled side to side, sort of like one of his legs was shorter than the other, and he kept his right hand against his chest, like he couldn’t move it.”

Mummy went even more pale than she’d already been, and her voice was kind of breathy when she said, “John, they’re in trouble.”

This time Victoria was the one who couldn’t breathe. She should have told Mummy about the man sooner, should have called Daddy sooner, and then, maybe, that man wouldn’t have taken Aunt Ellie, Clara, and Jack.

“Both our pasts,” Mummy said then. Victoria wondered what that meant. “From Victoria’s description, I think it might be Toussaint L’Ouverture.”

Whatever Daddy said made Mummy mad. “No,” she bit out, “I do _not_ mean the leader of the Haitian Revolution. This is _not_ the eighteenth century, John, and you probably knew him as Georges Duvalier.”

Being mad at Daddy made Mummy’s face fill with color and her eyes snap angrily. Then she rolled her eyes, though Victoria couldn’t help but wonder why when Daddy wasn’t there to see it. “ _Yes_ , in Montreal.”

This time, Mummy sighed. “I know you hate the French, John, but the Québécois are a completely different flavor of French.”

That was when Victoria remembered the woman. “Mummy, when we first turned onto Clark, he was talking to a woman.”

Her mother’s blue eyes zeroed in on her.

“What did she look like?” There was a note in Mummy’s voice that made Victoria think her mum had an idea who that woman was, and she was about to be _really_ mad.

“She was older, kind of tall, with brown hair.” Mummy’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t get a good look at her.” In truth, Victoria had been more interested in the man. “She wore a fur hat and coat,” she remembered, then frowned. “It was kind of whitish gray.”

Mummy stood up then, and Victoria listened as she told Daddy what she had just said. Then she heard her mum say, “Yes, I remember Alan Dietrich.” A moment later she said, “Alright.” Then, “I will.”

When she hung up, Mummy handed Victoria her phone back and used her own to call Grandpa V. H. She quickly told him what had happened and what Victoria had seen. Her mummy handed her the phone, and Grandpa V. H. asked her to repeat it all. When she finished, he asked her a lot of questions.

While she answered them, Mummy walked toward one of Daddy’s friends who came into the store with a woman and two other men. Daddy’s friend met Mummy about halfway across the store, and they talked while Victoria continued to answer her grandpa’s questions. The others began moving through the main part of the store. Mummy introduced Daddy’s friend to the store clerk she had left Victoria with, and then she came back to Victoria. Her grandpa told her to tell Mummy he was sending her some photographs to show Victoria, and then he told her he loved her.

Once she’d given Mummy the message, Mummy took her to Daddy’s friend. “Victoria, this is Special Agent Alan Dietrich with the FBI.”

Victoria frowned, mainly because, according to Daddy, the FBI was the worst agency of the U.S. government—if he didn’t count the EPA.

The FBI man smiled at her and said hello. He told her he knew her Daddy, which Victoria already knew because she’d heard Daddy talk about him and because they had gone to his house before. He took them into the back of the store, and then he spoke to her like she was Jack’s age until she gave him a hard stare. He laughed and looked at Mummy, who appeared more worried than Victoria had ever seen her. “She’s definitely her father’s daughter, isn’t she?” Victoria was pretty sure he was making fun of her, so she crossed her arms and gave him an even harder stare.

By then, Victoria was certain her little brother had been stolen and Clara and Aunt Ellie with him. She was also certain that man with the funny walk and the black coat stole them. Now all she had to do was figure out how and where he had taken them since daddy’s friend was being an idiot and talking to her and to Mummy instead of looking for them. She figured, too, that the lady in fur was probably that man’s partner, and Victoria thought about Cruella De Vil, who also wore fur and took people. She hoped Cruella wasn’t going to do horrible things to her brother and Clara and Aunt Ellie if Daddy’s friend didn’t hurry up and find them.

She worried that it might have been her fault that Jack and the others got taken, so Victoria decided she needed to not get mad at the FBI man and to tell him and the woman with him everything she saw. When she finished doing so and finished answering the questions they asked her after she told them what she had seen, the FBI man smiled at her and told her she was a very observant little girl and that that would make his job easier.

Victoria nearly told him Daddy would find them, but the last time she told someone Daddy worked with that they should just let Daddy do something, Daddy had later given her one of his Talking To’s about “professional courtesy” and “don’t insult the grownups.”

While she answered questions, she couldn’t help thinking they ought to be doing something instead of asking her again and again about the man and Cruella De Vil. She supposed it was okay since the other people the FBI man brought with him seemed to be doing something to try and find Jack. More FBI people and some police officers had shown up since the man started talking to her and Mummy.

When the questions were finally over, Victoria sat down beside her mum and thought, tried to see if there was anything she might have forgotten, anything she might have missed, and when she was certain she’d told them everything, she realized something.

Maybe she and Daddy should have been teaching Jack how to get away from grownups, just like Daddy and Mummy had done for her when she was little. Of course, it had been a long time since someone last talked about trying to steal Victoria, and even though she couldn’t imagine why someone would want to take Jack—let alone Aunt Ellie and Clara—Victoria knew now that someone should have taught him what to do when grownups tried to snatch him. Jack might be a pain in the ass (though she knew not to say so or Mummy and Daddy would send her to her room since little girls weren’t supposed to say _ass_ ), but he was also her little brother, and their Mummy and Daddy couldn’t always be there to take care of him. Neither could Victoria, she realized, and for the first time since he disappeared, she felt fear.

Grownups sometimes had trouble understanding Jack if they weren’t used to how little kids talked, so even if he got away from the man, he might still be lost, might not be able to find his way to someone who could let Mummy and Daddy know where he was. Even if Jack got away, he didn’t like to talk, so he might not even say anything to anyone, especially if he remembered Mummy’s warnings about not talking to strangers. Then again, those had been for Victoria, but Jack had probably heard them.

Maybe Daddy should have given Jack a phone, too.

Victoria’s chest hurt. She wanted her Daddy. She thought she might be about to cry, so she was glad when Mummy hugged her. Mummy whispered in her ear: “It will be alright,” she said. “They’ll find him and Ellie and Clara. You did very well, Victoria, and they have some ideas where to look because you did exactly as we taught you.”

“We should have taught Jack,” she choked.

Mummy didn’t just ignore her like a lot of grownups would. “Yes, we should have,” she said quietly, met Victoria’s eyes. “You’ll have to help me with that when we get him back.”

She threw her arms around Mummy and held on tightly, hoped she wouldn’t cry. Mummy held her tightly, too. Sometimes Victoria wished their family was like other families, but it wasn’t, and even though she wanted to slug Jack most of the time, if he turned up, she’d hug him, too, and be nicer to him than she had been.

They had to wait for the FBI people to finish and take them home—Daddy’s orders—or they had to wait for him to come get them. Victoria hoped Daddy came and got them because she was sure he could figure out where her brother and Aunt Ellie and Clara had been taken. Mummy wanted to help, but the FBI people refused to let her. Victoria could tell how mad that made her mum. Mad was good, though, because each time Mummy finally backed down, she started to shake, looked like she might cry. Being mad kept her from doing either. Victoria talked to Mummy then. Making her mum focus on her seemed to help Mummy hold things together.

Victoria froze. She wasn’t sure why she thought it, but once she had, she couldn’t get rid of the question: What if that man took Aunt Ellie and Clara because he thought they were Mummy and Victoria?

Mummy must have realized something was wrong because she set Victoria away from her on the bench the FBI people finally told them they could use. Mummy kept her hands on Victoria’s arms, though, and she was glad since Mummy’s touch made her feel better. Her mum searched her face; Victoria could tell she was worried. “Victoria, this is not your fault.”

Sometimes she thought Mummy read minds.

Breathing in slowly, Victoria asked the question that had occurred to her: “What if they thought they were us?” Her voice shook and barely made noise.

Her mummy studied her, paled. The last several days, Aunt Ellie had often watched Jack while Mummy and Victoria did Christmas shopping. Jack was easily bored and got into trouble when they were shopping. After Jack slipped his leash for the fourth time (Daddy had told her that it wasn’t a leash and not to call it that, but Victoria thought it looked like the harness thing Mrs. Rabinowitz used when she walked her dachshund), Mummy decided to leave him with Aunt Ellie when Clara’s mum wasn’t working at the hospital so they could finish their Christmas shopping. Mummy closed her mouth, which had dropped open and chewed her lower lip a moment. “If that man was who I think it was, then he knows me,” she said quietly. “I doubt he mistook Ellie for me.”

Dread filled Victoria. “What if he wasn’t who you think?” she asked. “What if whoever it was got it wrong?”

Before Mummy could answer, Daddy was there. Victoria shot off the bench and ran to him, glad when he scooped her up and hugged her tightly. He also pulled Mummy against him. Victoria didn’t really relax, though, because if the man wasn’t who Mummy thought, then Victoria might have made a mistake when she described him—or someone else took them. Daddy kissed Mummy, and then he pressed a kiss on Victoria’s cheek. “I should have come immediately.”

Victoria wished he’d come immediately, too, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she half listened to her parents talk about what Mummy had been able to learn and thought hard. The woman in the fur coat was familiar, so if Victoria could just remember where she had seen her, maybe they could find Jack.

 

\-----X-----

 

Casey had given Victoria a cellphone when they came to Chicago. He’d long ago learned not to ignore the kind of persistent itch in the back of his head he’d gotten when they temporarily relocated for this assignment. Even though he was fairly certain that after several years of no threats to them she and her mother were safe, Casey hadn’t been able to shake the idea that something was going to go wrong. He’d told his daughter to always carry the phone with her, to make sure it was always charged, and he’d walked her though the six numbers he’d programmed into it and the order in which she was to call them if it ever became necessary. He’d also explained what merited using the phone.

He ignored Dietrich’s incredulous swearing and picked up. His daughter was not prone to panic, so if she called him, something was dreadfully wrong. “Victoria?” he asked softly, and prayed like hell it really was her on the other end and that her emergency wasn’t actually a serious one.

“There was a man following us, and now Aunt Ellie, Clara and Jack are gone,” his daughter said in a rush. “I think they were stolen, and now Mummy’s having trouble breathing.”

Not for the world would he ever admit the sense of panic that flooded him then. He tamped it down, reminded himself that he did not panic. After all, he could hear the edge of it in Victoria’s voice, and if he wasn’t calm, she might tip over that edge. It was the one thing about parenthood he was always good at: calm in the face of chaos or eminent disaster regardless of his inner turmoil. He took a deep breath and asked, “Where are you?”

He knew the grocery store. His wife often shopped there if she only needed a handful of things because it was close. That was her excuse, anyway. Casey knew it was because it was on the way to Molly’s, and he was well aware of Riah’s weakness for the bakery’s dark chocolate raspberry cupcakes.

Casey covered the phone because Richardson was obviously winding up the pitch. Casey was suddenly torn. He could see this part of the mission out, or he could go after whatever bastards took his son. Then he realized that leaving to chase the bad guys would win him points with Riah but blow months of work because Bartowski would have to be told why he was bugging out, and the second the kid learned his sister and niece were MIA, he’d run for it, and it would all go right down the toilet.

As he eyed Richardson, the FBI’s undercover agent, on the monitor, he thought hard.

Kidnapping was federal, and, in particular, it was FBI federal when it involved children, thanks to the Lindbergh baby case. Much as it killed Casey to admit it, they were far better prepared than he to deal with this. “You’re going to do as I say, and if you fuck it up, Dietrich, I _will_ kill you.”

Dietrich looked startled, then concerned at Casey’s vehemence. Casey told him to take over, curtly told Bartowski to listen to Dietrich while he dealt with something, and then uncovered his phone and told Victoria, “Hand the phone to your mom.”

“John?”

Casey heard her fear and her obvious upset. “Victoria says Jack, Clara and Ellie disappeared.” He didn’t want to panic her, especially since their daughter was right about Riah’s breathing; he could hear the slight wheeze in her voice.

“They were right here,” she told him, “but now they’re gone.”

“Our daughter said she saw a man tailing you. Did you get a look at him?” He eyed Dietrich who was focused on his man and the mobsters on the monitor.

“I don’t know about a man,” his wife said in a carefully controlled tone. He heard her then ask Victoria, “What man did you see?”

Casey couldn’t quite hear his daughter’s words, and he nearly asked Riah to put it on speaker so he could. Instead, he waited impatiently, hoped this would turn out to be nothing more than her father having put a man on them to see they were safe and Ellie wandering off with the kids to do another errand while his wife grocery shopped. After a moment, Riah gave him a concise description: around six feet, black hair, broken nose and five o’clock shadow, black duffle coat with a gray scarf, and black boots. She went silent. Her voice was thready and almost inaudible as she added. “John, they’re in trouble.”

The trick would be not to spook her any more than she already was, not to set off the kind of panic attack he’d only witnessed twice and never wanted to experience again, especially when he wasn’t there to help her through it. As a result, Casey made the kind of sarcastic comment that usually made her angry: “So is this guy a lone nut from the tundra or someone from one of our pasts?” He knew it was more likely someone from his if that turned out to be the case.

“Both our pasts,” Riah replied, her voice a little stronger. “From Victoria’s description, I think it might be Toussaint L’Ouverture.”

That, he couldn’t resist, mainly because he was the one who needed calm after hearing that name. “The guy who overthrew the whites in Haiti?”

He knew better, remembered the L’Ouverture she referenced from Montreal, and what he remembered was pretty goddamn ugly, though what the man might want with Jack—let alone Ellie or Clara Woodcomb—he simply couldn’t fathom. Toussaint L’Ouverture had had a lot of years to hone his particular brand of sadistic bastard. Besides, Victoria’s description hadn’t sounded like an octogenarian, and L’Ouverture, assuming he was still alive, was at least eighty.

His wife bit, though, and made an immediate response to his sarcasm. “No, I do _not_ mean the leader of the Haitian Revolution. This is _not_ the eighteenth century, John, and you probably knew him as Georges Duvalier.”

Casey had forgotten the old man had liked French nom du guerres, though he couldn’t remember that L’Ouverture had ever used Duvalier. His son, on the other hand, had, and the wily old man had a grandson Casey suspected might meet the description his daughter had given her mother, provided genetics ran true and someone had smashed the kid’s nose for him. For clarity, he asked, “From Montreal?”

“ _Yes_ , in Montreal.”

“Fucking French,” he breathed. It was an automatic response, and he wouldn’t have made it if Victoria were in earshot. His daughter was picking up far too many of his expressions as it was.

She sighed. “I know you hate the French, John, but the Québécois are a completely different flavor of French.” It wasn’t hard to hear her exasperation in her response. Casey was unrepentant, though, especially because her panic always subsided if she was pissed off.

He heard Victoria tell her mother, “Mummy, when we first turned onto Clark, he was talking to a woman.”

Riah immediately asked, “What did she look like?” Casey began running the L’Ouverture males through the databases while he waited for his wife to get their daughter’s answer.

“She was older, kind of tall, with brown hair,” he heard Victoria say. That particular description didn’t narrow things down, though Casey was glad to have Carina ruled out. The redhead had played fast and loose with his family members before when she thought it would get her ahead in the game. On second thought, he wouldn’t much mind taking Carina down, especially since this particular assignment kept dragging out, and he suspected that was largely down to her way of playing her own game with the hillbillies. “I didn’t get a good look at her,” he heard his daughter add. “She wore a fur hat and coat. It was kind of whitish gray.”

His wife sounded even more pissed off when she repeated Victoria’s answer, which made Casey suspect she had an idea about who the female might have been and that she didn’t like her at all. That usually meant the woman was connected to either Casey or her father.

He wondered if there were things his wife had failed to tell him while he was distracted by his current assignment.

Bartowski’s debut was underway, so Casey made a decision he was certain would seriously piss his wife off. He put his job first, though he suspected he was making the right decision given he lacked expertise in kidnappings and because his people skills were notoriously terrible when it was personal. It was probably best to send someone who wouldn’t want to beat the hell out of any witnesses who weren’t able to point them immediately at where his son was. It was definitely better to send someone who specialized in child abductions. He eyed the man next to him, and wondered what it would cost him when he acted on his decision.

“Remember Alan Dietrich?” he bit out. Dietrich had been at their wedding, but they hadn’t socialized with the agent and his wife very much since coming to Chicago, mainly in case one of them was being watched.

“Yes, I know Alan Dietrich.”

He could hear a slightly appalled note in her voice, and that meant she understood he wasn’t leaving the job. He let the churning emotion through a minute because he was pretty sure she was angry at him. That was fair, but he was pissed off, too. He let her hear his frustration. “I can’t leave right now,” he bit out, “we’re on go. Abduction—especially child abduction—is the FBI’s sandbox, and it’s show time here, so I’m sending Dietrich to you.”

The other man looked startled as Casey met his eyes, but he’d have to wait for an explanation.

A moment later Riah tightly said, “Alright.”

There was no accusation there, and for a split second he thought about what he’d told her years earlier when he convinced her to marry him. He was sorely tempted to be selfish for once, to go running and personally make sure his son was found safe, but then he remembered the oaths he’d made his country and the promises he’d made Beckman. He suspected the diminutive general would understand if he chose to ignore her orders and go to his wife, but there was always the chance she wouldn’t, would instead see him court-martialed for dereliction of duty.

It occurred to him that Jack would probably be safe and with his mother if Casey hadn’t been selfish enough to bring his family to Chicago in the first place.

“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” he promised, “but if I leave, Chuck’s going to demand to know why. Then we have to start all over again with a new team because I’ll have to tell him about Ellie and Clara, and he’ll freak out and insist on coming.”

It killed him that she would understand, let him off the hook for leaving her to deal with this alone. Casey felt like he was taking advantage of her general willingness to let him put the job first. He didn’t like that at all, especially not when his first instinct was to go after whatever human slime thought he could get away with taking their son.

There were really only two reasons to take Jack—one of which was revenge on Casey (but then they would have taken Victoria and Riah as well to cause maximum damage), but the other, seemingly more likely scenario given his wife and daughter hadn’t been taken as well, was the Intersect. He figured Ellie and Clara had been the real targets, had been intended as leverage against Bartowski, and that Jack had simply been with the wrong women when they were taken.

“Riah, I promise I’ll be there as fast as I can, but for now, let Dietrich and his team do their job.” He heard Bartowski begin, knew the kid needed his attention. He added fervently, “Help them find Jack.”

Despite the fact he was certain he’d never hear the end of it from Dietrich, he added, “I love you, and I’ll be there the second I can.” In fact, as soon as Dietrich was en route, he was going to tell Walker and Bartowski to make it quick. A thought occurred to him. “Call your dad. He might find L’Ouverture faster.” Casey left unsaid that he might also more quickly rule him out if necessary. If V.H. did, though, then they had no real leads with which to work.

His wife’s voice was thick when she said, “I will.”

When she hung up, he returned his attention to Dietrich. “My wife and daughter are at a grocery on Clark,” and he gave his old friend the address. “Someone took my son and Bartowski’s sister and niece. Get your CARD team and go find out what happened. I’ll be there as soon as we can get away from here.”

Dietrich stared at him, clearly dumbfounded. Casey really didn’t want to hear it, so he growled, “Get your ass in gear and go find Jack. Get him back for us.”

He didn’t wait for that command to be followed, instead turned his attention to the operation underway. “I need you to work as fast as you can without compromising the operation,” he told Walker and Bartowski. “We have another situation we need to deal with—immediately.” There was only a slight flicker on the kid’s face. Casey didn’t elaborate, but he watched as Dietrich made his exit, the other man already on the phone to send his team to Riah and Victoria.

Just before Dietrich slid the door closed, Casey told his old friend to tell Riah and his daughter to stay put until he got there—or to take them home if Casey wasn’t yet able to get free of Bartowski’s opening act to get inside Bridges’ operation.

Casey also sent a message to Beckman, told her what had happened and that he would report in as soon as he was able, but he also told her he was leaving others to do any cleanup with Bridges once Walker and Bartowski left the stage because his wife and daughter needed him. He honestly didn’t care if she fired him or reprimanded him for doing exactly what he’d promised he wouldn’t.

It took a little over two hours, that first maneuvering with Bridges, and Casey was more impatient than usual the entire time. He second-guessed his decision. He knew he should have turned this over to Dietrich, taken the man’s team and gone to the grocery himself. Nonetheless, he dutifully fed Walker and Bartowski information, listened to the subtle negotiations, but even as he did, more perfunctorily than normal, he ran scenarios, checked what came back on the L’Ouverture family, and tried to figure out who remained of the old Fulcrum/Ring factions who might be trying to relive the past by pursuing an Intersect.

For good measure, he considered Walker’s and Bartowski’s enemies, past and present, and he sent Grimes a text, mainly to check that the Bearded Boy Wonder and Alex were safe. They were supposed to come into Chicago the next night, and Casey considered asking them to stay away. When Grimes responded, though, Casey didn’t follow instinct and tell him to cancel their flight to Chicago. He suspected neither of them would agree to do it if they knew what was really going on, so he said nothing about the abduction. Besides, Bartowski would probably tell his life partner as soon as he knew, but the longer Casey could delay upsetting Alex, the longer he could keep them out of it, the better.

When Bartowski made his bow and they rendezvoused, Casey already had an NSA operative there to take the van. Bartowski, as predictable as clockwork, was running on an adrenaline high, and part of Casey didn’t want to burst his bubble. On the one hand, the kid had done good, solid work, and he deserved to ride that. On the other, two of his family members were missing.

It was Walker who read his face and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

Even if Casey did gentle and sensitive, he wouldn’t have chosen that path in this case. The less time they wasted, the better, so Casey kept his eyes on hers and got to the point: “Nearly three hours ago, someone kidnapped Ellie, Clara, and Jack from a grocer’s. We need to go.”

Bartowski started in, but Casey ignored the stream of angry accusation, especially since the kid didn’t say a thing he hadn’t already acknowledged in his own head.

He couldn’t say his driving was prudent given the road conditions and the fact that the snow still fell thickly. He definitely broke a number of traffic laws while Bartowski squawked and angrily vented because Casey hadn’t told him sooner. Casey considered ignoring both the kid’s complaints and the city’s traffic laws justified since this was absolutely an emergency, and while the road conditions meant he occasionally skidded, each time he quickly regained control of the SUV. His son was missing. If anything beyond being snatched happened to Jack, Riah would never forgive him. Hell, he would never forgive himself.

Immediately after that thought popped into his head, Casey knew he had made the wrong call: he should have left his post the moment Victoria told him what had happened. Screw his assignment. His son had been taken. Screw the oaths and promises. This overwrote those. The mission was less important if for no other reason than Jack’s apparent kidnapping would devastate Riah.

As he ran a red light to make a left turn onto Clark, his chest tightened. He didn’t give a good goddamn about the horns and skidding vehicles as he dodged pedestrians, barely noticed them except as obstacles to avoid.

He did belatedly think he should have taken one of the vehicles with a light bar and siren so people would clear out of his way.

Not bothering to stop at the booth to take a parking ticket after he again cut off traffic to turn into the grocery’s lot, he parked the SUV in the fire lane—if a barely controlled skid that nearly ended up against the dried-blood red brick of the grocery’s wall could be called “parking”—and exited the car. The elderly man dressed in what looked like a _perahan wa tunban_ under a thick parka who came after him, jabbering about parking rules, caught the brunt of Casey’s anger. He snapped in Pashto, “Unless you’d like to see if there really are seventy-two virgins waiting, get out of my way.”

The man’s eyes shot wide; after a blink of a second, he renewed his protestations. Casey held his badge out, and the man’s complaints died. He scurried back to his booth, and Casey made a mental note to tell the feds to check the guy out.

They had shut the place down, though there were a few shoppers and employees still inside, either talking to the feds and Chicago PD or waiting to do so. Casey asked the first fed badge he saw, “Where’s Dietrich?”

The woman hesitated, so he turned an impatient glare on her. “In the back.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Where’s that?” he demanded with the quiet menace that usually got results.

She pointed a shaking arm toward a far corner of the store, and then gathered enough courage to say, “You can’t go back there!” when he headed in that direction. He kept going, held his badge up behind him, and vaguely heard Walker settling in to soothe ruffled feathers and, presumably, find out what the feds knew.

There was a cluster of employees and agents near the door to the back. Casey would interrogate them once he saw Riah and Victoria. He held the badge up again to forestall anyone else trying to stop or delay him.

It was only then that he realized Bartowski was beside him. He’d tuned the other man out before, ignored his questions, but now that they were here, the kid was spewing concern. Casey wasn’t going to belittle that, not this time. Bartowski had earned some respect, but Casey didn’t know anything beyond what he’d already told him, was flying blind, so the kid could just get his answers when Casey did.

As they entered the storeroom from the short hallway, Victoria flew at him, and even as he bent and scooped his daughter up into a tight, strangling hug, his eyes found his wife. Riah slowly stood from the bench where they had been seated, and her pale face showed her fear more clearly than he’d ever seen. Normally, she held it together, kept the spy face mostly intact, but this time her emotions were nakedly displayed. Her expression cut to the bone, and Casey realized he’d been functioning pretty much on autopilot until that moment. It had held his own worries at bay, but now the guilt crushed in on him. He again wished he’d dropped everything and come when he’d first answered his daughter’s call.

He shifted Victoria to his hip as Riah reached him, folded her close, too, then bent, breathed in and had the experience of knowing what it must be like for her when panic flooded in and cut off her air. As her arms wrapped tightly around him, he kissed her. He pressed a kiss on Victoria’s cheek. Riah buried her face in his chest. That chest felt uncomfortably tight, and he could feel his heart race. “I should have come immediately,” he breathed softly, hoped she recognized his apology.

She shook her head, then lifted it from his chest. “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” she told him, a slight wheeze still in her voice. “They were taken out the front, so there were no tracks to follow. I spoke to the parking attendant who saw them leave, but he was busy with a customer when they exited. He really didn’t see anything other than that they walked out of the lot to the street behind. He doesn’t know which way they went when they reached it.”

Because she looked up at him to say that, he caught her mouth, kissed her, drew comfort from the fact that she hadn’t completely collapsed, had tried to do something while he had sat in the van and listened to Bartowski maneuver. Her words weren’t much comfort, though. The one thing he did know about Jack’s situation was that the first three hours were key in child kidnapping cases, but on the off-chance his wife didn’t, he kept his mouth shut. Riah was obviously struggling with the situation, so he wasn’t about to make it worse for her.

He set Victoria back on her feet and asked Riah to go through it all again. When she finished, he sat beside her on the bench where she and their daughter had been seated when he arrived, wrapped an arm around her and one around his daughter before asking Victoria to tell him everything she remembered. She reported she had first seen the man shortly after they left the house. Each time they stopped, so did the man. She described him in minute detail when Casey asked, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the feds taking notes. It pissed him off that they might not have asked Victoria what she had seen, but he did nothing more than return his attention to his daughter.

When she described the woman, he cocked his head. Riah asked softly, “What?”

Swallowing thickly, he breathed deeply in and then let it sigh out. Casey knew the name might cause her to go off like an IED. She gave him a look that said he had better spill. “It sounds a little like Galina Vian.”

Riah’s brows shot up, and then she looked seriously pissed off. “I’ve never seen her—that I’m aware.”

“I’ve seen one of her movies,” he said carefully. For once he was glad she only seemed interested in using sarcasm. He was well aware that his wife knew more than she admitted about the Belgian woman who’d once left her father cuffed naked to a bed. Vian had been a porn star early in her career, but later she had turned to espionage and the theater. It didn’t change the fact that she was firmly entrenched in males of Casey’s generation for a series of soft-core movies V. H. used to facetiously dismiss as “historical” since they were often set in the past.

His wife’s expression told him she knew exactly what kind of film he meant. To his relief, she didn’t ask which one. Instead, she said only, “Maybe we can find some footage from a security camera and see who it was.” She looked at Victoria and prompted, “Tell your father the rest.”

Victoria resumed her recital, explained about seeing the man outside Molly’s, the woman, too, and then how she had stayed with her mother in the store and why. Casey felt Riah’s reaction even as he heard her soft gasp when their daughter told him she stayed with her mother because she didn’t want her to get stolen again like Riah had been when she was a little girl.

It was a pretty safe guess that V. H. had once more been telling Casey’s daughter things he really shouldn’t, and Casey would have a few choice words for his father-in-law about that when they finally had Jack back.

He watched his daughter’s face crumple a little then smooth out once more. He was proud of the fact that she didn’t let emotion get to her, but sometimes—like now—it might be best if she didn’t control it quite so tightly. He pulled her closer to his side where she sat on the bench beside him, kissed the top of her head. What he really wanted to do was pull her into his lap and not let her go.

“I should have called you sooner,” she said with a hitch in her voice that made Casey press another kiss to the top of her head.

“You did the right thing,” he assured her, unwilling to make her think that by delaying she had risked her brother. Casey might have been able to abort the operation with Bartowski if she had, might have been able to get there before anything happened, but had he done so, they would likely have had to scrap their operation entirely, start again from the beginning with a new team and prolong his time in Chicago. He was also aware that he might well have shrugged Victoria’s concerns off if she had called him sooner. If the guy was just watching them, Casey would probably have suggested she simply tell her mother, and the result would likely have been the same—their son and Ellie and her daughter taken.

Then again, Riah might not have stopped at the store, and they might all have been taken.

Riah’s hand slid onto his thigh, and he covered it with his own, linked his fingers with hers. He had the urge to get up and interrogate Dietrich’s people about what they had learned, but instead he sat there, provided what comfort he could to his wife and daughter and let Bartowski and Walker make the demands he would have preferred to make himself. Dietrich’s team wouldn’t find them any faster if he interfered with their investigation, and Walker was better than he at the getting people to talk part while Bartowski excelled at getting people to say things they normally wouldn’t. Casey recalled the number of times he’d been impatient with those who intervened in his own investigations, and he found himself unwilling to be on the receiving end of what he had sometimes dished out.

When his phone rang, he released Riah’s hand. It was V. H. For a moment Casey was tempted to get up, move where their conversation couldn’t be overheard by the man’s daughter and granddaughter. Instead, feeling Victoria tense and seeing Riah’s face pale further, he stayed where he was and answered the call.

“All the L’Ouvertures are accounted for,” his father-in-law told him, “so whoever this is, it isn’t one of them.”

Casey couldn’t say he was surprised by that news. He hadn’t really thought it was one of the Canadians. He suspected the Intersect—or an Intersect—was the real goal, and the L’Ouvertures were unlikely to go so far out of their way to try and take candidates for which they had little real use. The Ring was gone, Fulcrum was so crippled it might never fully recover, and while Casey had a few ideas about who might be stepping up to fill the void, none of them were quite strong enough or well organized enough to mount such an operation.

“How are Mariah and Victoria?” the other man asked.

Studying his wife and daughter, Casey found he wasn’t at all sure how to answer that. Riah was barely holding it together while Victoria looked like someone had died.

His own breath caught at that, mainly because until then he had refused to accept that as a possibility.

“Holding up,” he finally answered.

“I’m catching a plane.” Casey was about to tell him it might be better if he stayed at ISI where he could run checks if this turned out to be something other than what he suspected, but the other man continued. “I’m not sure what time I’ll get there, but I’ll stay at a hotel since I imagine your place will be overrun with the FBI.”

“Your daughter will shoot you if you do,” Casey said, but his heart wasn’t in the normal taunts he traded with V. H. Riah cocked her head, frowned at him. “Come to the house.”

“Given the surveillance they’ll put in place, it’s probably better I have some privacy.”

V. H. had been making noise about retirement, but so far he’d done nothing about it. He was still the director general of a major intelligence organization, one answerable to a foreign government, so Casey understood what he was saying. “I think we can make an arrangement.”

“I’m not sure I trust an NSA agent given what any arrangements might mean after Snowden.”

It was telling that Casey had no comeback for that. “Your daughter will want you with her.”

“Alright.”

He handed the phone to Riah when her father asked, and she, too, insisted V. H. stay with them. While they talked, Casey leaned down to Victoria and asked, “Want to go home?”

She nodded, her face solemn. Then she frowned. “Daddy, what if they took Aunt Ellie and Clara by mistake? What if they thought they were me and Mummy?”

That tightness was back in his chest as those questions spilled from his daughter. He’d briefly thought it but shoved it aside to deal with the operation underway. Now, meeting his daughter’s troubled gaze, he gave it more serious thought.

There was no doubt it was possible, even probable. If it was truly the Intersect in play again, then each of them were viable targets—including Ellie and her own daughter. It was curious that they hadn’t all been taken. Casey supposed it could be limited numbers if it had only been the man and woman Victoria had seen. It could have been concern that Riah wouldn’t go quietly because of her background and training, so Ellie and Clara made more attractive, more biddable targets. Jack could have just been a bonus.

It was also possible Victoria had the right of it. Whoever had taken them might well have mistaken the two female Woodcombs for Riah and Victoria.

As Casey considered that, he decided whoever had taken them would have been in touch with him by now if that had been the case. The Intersect might play a role, but taking what someone believed to be his entire family was personal, and the kinds of human garbage he dealt with usually liked to let him know what they had done. It wasn’t like those particular scumbags wouldn’t have recognized Riah, though, so he tended to discount her being the actual target.

It was entirely possible, though, that Ellie was, that someone had connected Bartowski to her and taking her and her daughter was meant as leverage against the kid.

His daughter clearly expected an answer to her question, but he wasn’t sure he had one. He was afraid his suspicions would only make her feel more guilt than she obviously already did, so Casey told her the only thing he felt he could: “This wasn’t your fault, Victoria, and you shouldn’t think it is. Even if someone thought it was you and your mother they took along with Jack, that’s definitely not your fault.”

“If Mummy wasn’t a communist,” she whispered, “I could have had my gun.”

Casey wanted to laugh, mainly because it was better than any of the alternatives. It wasn’t really funny, though, so he choked it back, especially since he didn’t want to explain to Riah what he’d found funny in this situation. He’d been in trouble more than once with his wife for things their daughter had repeated or that he had allowed Victoria to do when the two of them disagreed about parenting, but if Riah found out he’d bought their daughter an age-appropriate handgun and regularly took her to the range to learn to use it, he’d probably be sleeping alone for a _very_ long time. “What did I tell you about shooting bad guys?”

She sighed. “That I can’t shoot them without proof that they really are bad guys, and even then I should let a grownup do it.”

There had been considerably more to it than that, but Casey let it go since she got the essential part of it. Before he could add anything, Dietrich stepped into the room where they sat from the wide hallway. The other man beckoned to him. “Take care of your mom,” Casey told Victoria softly as he removed his arm from around her and stood. Riah still spoke to her father, and when she looked up at him, he tilted his head slightly toward where Dietrich waited. Her eyes tracked to the other man, and then she nodded at Casey.

“And here I thought you’d be the extreme pain in the ass interfering with my investigation,” Dietrich grimly greeted him. “Bartowski is in danger of friendly fire.”

Casey ignored that. He knew all too well what Chuck was like when his loved ones were endangered. “Tell me what you know—all of it, not just the part you usually placate families with.” He reinforced that order with a particularly hard stare, one that made Dietrich inexplicably laugh.

“Your daughter gave me that very same look.” Dietrich’s amusement died quickly when Casey amped it up, wondered what had inspired Victoria to do so. “They were taken out the front. One of the store’s employees saw them being herded out, but before she could stop them or ask what they were doing, they were out the door. According to her, there were four of them. Two of them carried Jack and the girl out while the woman was held between the other two.” Dietrich made a face. “She didn’t think to call the cops, either, despite the fact that Dr. Woodcomb was obviously not leaving through her own choice, though the clerk says she wasn’t really resisting either.”

It didn’t surprise Casey, especially since he’d learned long ago that a lot of civilians generally chose not to get involved, assumed someone else would report things that obviously needed to be reported to the authorities, so he focused instead on the fact that Ellie apparently hadn’t fought; then he considered why. Probably a threat to Clara, or they had weapons on her the clerk hadn’t seen. She was cooler under pressure than Chuck, but he found it hard to believe that she hadn’t made an attempt to get away or to say something to someone. Then it hit him: she wanted the children safe, believed she could protect them, so she probably went with them when it was obvious they were taking them. It was probably the smartest thing she could have done in the circumstances, and Casey hoped she could make sure nothing happened to his son or her daughter before they found them. He also hoped that nothing happened to Ellie.

“They walked along the front of the store away from Clark,” Dietrich continued, “so there’s no telling which direction they went when they eventually got into a vehicle—if they got into a vehicle. There are a lot of apartments around here, and people come and go often. Chicago PD’s handling the door-to-door, and my people will follow up with anyone who saw something. There are also a number of parking garages, and we’re checking those. Thank God they all have security cameras, but it’ll take time. We don’t know what they were driving or if they got in a car or a van, so we’ll have to canvas and ask who and what was seen leaving the area and in which direction.”

Casey nodded. The narrow street that ran along the side of the store was short, fed into a primarily residential street on one end and into a mix of commercial and residential buildings on the other, so it was unlikely they’d get lucky and find surveillance video unless their quarry took their hostages into a parking garage. Casey doubted Dietrich’s team would be so lucky since whoever had taken Ellie and the kids had managed it in broad daylight in a grocery store in a busy neighborhood and had apparently not aroused suspicions until Riah raised the alarm.

“Have you notified Ellie’s husband yet?”

Dietrich shook his head. “He was in surgery when your wife tried to call him, and she told us it was probably better to wait until we knew more.”

Woodcomb would not be awesome when he was told, so Casey thought Riah had made the right call. Bartowski could tell his brother-in-law and deal with the inevitable lady feelings and histrionics from Ellie’s husband.

“All four of them were men,” Dietrich continued, giving Casey their descriptions. Not one of them matched Victoria’s description of the man she’d seen. Before Casey could ask, Dietrich held up a hand to stop him. “We saw the man your daughter described on the store surveillance, but he never approached them.”

Maybe the man knew Victoria had seen him and simply served as the group’s eyes, kept their targets in sight until they could be collected. “So we’re looking for five men and the woman?”

Dietrich nodded, ignored Casey’s _we_. “I assume you want to see the video?”

He took Casey to a cramped, cluttered office at the end of the hallway where one of Dietrich’s agents showed him the store’s surveillance video. He saw his family, Ellie, and Clara enter the store, watched as they separated—Riah and Victoria actually shopping while Ellie, Clara and Jack wandered and looked. He saw the man Victoria described keeping an eye on Riah and their daughter, and he saw the four men who blocked the ends of the aisle where Ellie and the other children were and closed in. They seemed to know where the cameras were because there were no good views of their faces. The four men moved in while Ellie and Clara discussed cookies, apparently. Jack was the first to spot two of the men and began tugging on Ellie’s sleeve. By the time she gave him her attention, it was too late.

For a split second, one of the men exposed his face to the camera when he scooped up Jack, and Casey’s blood ran cold. He reached for his phone and then had a brief moment of panic when he realized it wasn’t there. Then he remembered leaving it with Riah. He demanded Dietrich’s phone, and the FBI agent reluctantly turned it over. Casey prayed V. H. hadn’t left his office yet.

He continued to watch the video, now focused on Riah and Victoria looking for the others while he mechanically went through the protocols to get through to his father-in-law. Casey decided he should have called the man’s personal number instead of the office number he had automatically dialed. If it wouldn’t raise questions he didn’t need raised, he’d have hung up and done what he should have. Then again, it might be better if Dietrich couldn’t get directly to V. H. The man Victoria had identified kept tracking them, and then he disappeared out the front door. It made no sense to Casey, indicated Ellie and Clara had probably been the real targets and Jack collateral damage. On the other hand, that familiar face made Casey believe they had specifically been after Jack, that Ellie and Clara were the collateral damage.

“Whatever happened to Lee Nevins’s old partner?” he demanded when V. H. was finally on the line.

Nevins had shot Riah years ago and then disappeared. Two years later, they had rounded him up, and as far as Casey knew, the man still sat in a secure facility controlled by ISI. At the time, Nevins had worked for the Ring with another man from CSIS who’d escaped the dragnet for Nevins, and Casey hunted the name.

“Quinnell?”

“That’s the one.” Casey should have remembered, but they’d never crossed paths before or since. He’d only seen the man’s photo, read his file.

“He’s stayed under the radar and out of Canada as far as I know,” V. H. said. There was an edge to the man’s voice that told Casey that wasn’t particularly good.

“I just watched him take my son,” he bit out. “Bring everything you know about the bastard with you—or better yet, send it ahead.”


	3. Chapter 3

Waiting for Mummy to get off the phone with Grandpa V. H. and for Daddy to come back from wherever he went with the FBI man made Victoria impatient. It also gave her time to think. She had overheard one of the policemen talk about going door to door in the neighborhood as he walked past where she sat with Mummy. Clara had friends nearby, some of whom Victoria knew from school. Tori Bates lived in an apartment building on the street where they seemed to think Jack and the others had been taken away. Victoria was determined to find out if Tori might have seen where they went since her apartment’s windows faced that street.

She plotted how to find that out.

Mummy touched Victoria’s shoulder. “Your grandfather needs to speak to you.”

Victoria took Daddy’s phone from Mummy and wondered why Grandpa V. H. wanted to talk to her again. He asked her a lot of questions, most of which she’d already explained to the FBI man and to Daddy, but she patiently went through them again. Her grandpa was a spy, too. She’d heard Daddy tell him to stay with them (though she wasn’t sure why Daddy thought Mummy would shoot Grandpa V. H.), so she figured that meant he was coming to help find Jack. To do her part, she answered the questions he asked.

When he asked about the woman, Victoria remembered Daddy saying he thought Cruella might be Galina Vian, and Victoria decided to look her up on _IMDb_ since Daddy had said she’d been in movies. A lot of times there were pictures of the actors on the website. She could check and see for herself.

What she really remembered was a conversation Mummy had had with her friend Mona Ellerby. Victoria liked Mona, who was nice, funny, and had a whooping kind of laugh. She’d said Galina Vian’s name before when she and Mummy were talking about how Mona once found Grandpa V. H. handcuffed to a bed in Montreal. Victoria wasn’t sure why Montreal came up all the time, but she figured this Galina Vian had been one of her grandpa’s girlfriends. The handcuffs had puzzled her. Maybe that Galina Vian was a spy, too, and she had arrested Grandpa V. H. While Grandpa got in trouble with Daddy a lot (Daddy gave her grandpa a lot of Talking To’s), Victoria knew that was just because he did things that annoyed Daddy or taught Victoria things Daddy didn’t think he should. She was pretty sure Daddy had never arrested her grandpa. Of course, that sort of thing got Daddy in trouble with Mummy sometimes—the teaching Victoria stuff, not the girlfriend stuff because Daddy didn’t have girlfriends since he married Mummy. Grownups were weird, though, and sometimes that weirdness seemed to involve handcuffs. After all, Aunt Walker teased Daddy sometimes about handcuffs and that mean, redheaded Carina.

Victoria didn’t understand why Daddy only seemed to know mean redheaded women.

Still, she decided Grandpa V. H. needed to know who Daddy thought the woman was. “Daddy thinks she sounds like Galina Vian.”

There was a long, hard silence, and Victoria wondered if Grandpa V. H. was going to give Daddy a Talking To this time. “I promise, Victoria,” he told her, and he sounded unusually grumpy, “that your woman isn’t Galina Vian.”

“Is she there with you?” Victoria asked. She didn’t know how Grandpa V. H. could be so sure since Daddy had sounded pretty certain.

“She’s in an English prison,” her grandpa told her. Then he asked, “Do you know who Ilsa Trinchina is?”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Grandpa V. H. sounded amused then. Victoria wasn’t, mainly because that Ilsa wanted to be Daddy’s girlfriend.

About three weeks before they came to Chicago, Mummy had gotten sick with a summer cold, so Daddy took Jack with them when he took Victoria for what was supposed to be their day. That meant they couldn’t go to the gun range because they had to take Jack along, and Jack was too little to shoot guns. Daddy couldn’t watch her shoot and watch Jack at the same time because when Jack was bored, he got into trouble. There was a lot of really bad trouble Jack could get into at the gun range, so Daddy took them to the zoo instead.

Victoria could have explained to Daddy the kinds of trouble Jack could get into at the zoo, but she decided she’d better not. Daddy would make her tell him how she knew, and then she’d get one of those Talking To’s. He did, though, notice the looks some of the zoo people gave Victoria as they went around the exhibits. Daddy would occasionally give her a look that made her think he was trying to decide if she was one of the good guys or not. Still, Victoria decided Daddy didn’t really need to know which of the cages had gates it was easy to pick the locks on, which had easy to guess access codes to open them, and which ones could be gotten around in other ways. He didn’t need to know why the lions’ people watched every move she made or why one of them followed them until they moved to the next habitat, and he especially didn’t need to know that the polar exhibit was named for Mummy’s grandmother because Mummy had had to give the zoo an awful lot of money not to permanently ban Victoria. Victoria had had to make a lot of promises about her behavior at the zoo if Mummy ever took her back.

She figured if she knew how to get into that kind of trouble, Jack wouldn’t have any problems figuring it out for himself. Jack was pretty good at that kind of thing without any training at all. Mummy had once told Aunt Julie she thought it might be genetic.

Aunt Julie had laughed like a maniac and told Mummy she should ask Grandma Jane about Daddy when he was a little boy.

Victoria knew who Ilsa was because she’d shown up at the zoo that day. They had just gone to look at the reptiles—Victoria didn’t like creepy-crawly, slithery things, but Jack did—and a woman followed them in and said, “Casey.” Daddy told Victoria to watch her brother, so she positioned herself so she could watch Jack study the python behind the glass while she watched Daddy and that woman.

She’d been able to hear them, too, because that woman wasn’t very quiet, so when that woman touched Daddy’s arm like Mummy often did, she’d heard Daddy angrily hiss, “ _Ilsa!_ ” as he jerked away from that woman’s hand.

Daddy didn’t like anyone but family to touch him, she knew, so Victoria decided she didn’t like that woman, especially since Mummy had once described her to Aunt Julie as a cross between a pit viper and prostitute (Victoria had been practicing her sneaking skills, or she wouldn’t have heard that). She had looked up the last word in the dictionary, so she knew this Ilsa was not nice and knew Mummy would be really mad if she learned that woman was chasing Daddy.

It made Victoria _really_ mad when that Ilsa said, “Lose the brats, Casey.”

Daddy sounded—and looked—like his teeth were clenched when he told her, “They’re my children, and we’re not having this conversation.”

That had made Victoria narrow her eyes at that woman and wonder what was going on because it kind of sounded like Daddy had been talking to the pit viper prostitute before she showed up at the zoo.

“So your little Riah whelped a couple of cubs for you,” the woman said in French. Victoria understood her because Mummy had been teaching her French for a couple of years. Daddy had pretended to be upset about it, though he later admitted to Victoria that it was really good to be able to speak more languages than English. Mummy said she should learn French because Victoria had dual citizenship—so did Jack and Mummy—and Canadians were bilingual. Daddy had thought it was funny to teach her some French swear words, and then Mummy had had several things to say to Daddy in some other language that didn’t sound remotely like French.

“Leave my wife out of this.” Daddy said to that Ilsa in English, and he sounded _really_ mad.

“Gladly, Casey,” that woman replied with a little shrug, but this time she put her hand on Daddy’s chest. “I need you.”

Victoria hadn’t liked the sound of that because it was kind of like a purr, the kind that made Mummy punch that Carina one time when the mean redhead touched Daddy. Victoria hadn’t been sure why that made Mummy hit someone—something she’d never seen her mum do before or since—but that Carina was mean, so Victoria supposed it was okay for Mummy to punch her. Uncle Chuck had said once Mummy kicked Carina’s ass, so she figured Mummy just really didn’t like Carina. Neither did Victoria.

She had to admit she had liked it when Daddy knocked that woman’s hand off him with a hard, fast movement of his arm. It made her think he didn’t want that Ilsa as a girlfriend, and that would make Mummy happy. “Not my job, Ilsa,” Daddy said in that low, angry voice of his, “not anymore.”

“My boss will call your boss, and then it will be your job,” that woman told him, which made Daddy even angrier than he had been before. “Your General Beckman will only order your assistance, and we could save a lot of time if you would simply say yes now.”

“Have your boss call mine,” Daddy had bit out, though Victoria had recognized the tone that said he’d do his best to get to that mean lady he worked for first and talk her out of it.

Satisfied that Mummy wouldn’t have to be upset and maybe punch someone again, Victoria had turned her attention to Jack, who was staring into the little window where they kept a different kind of python than the one he’d first stared at. She continued to listen to Daddy and that woman while she watched him.

“Casey—“

“We’re through, Ilsa,” he had said, and then he had come over and scooped up Jack. Victoria had envied her little brother since Daddy didn’t pick her up as often as he used to do. Jack protested when Daddy took them out of the reptile house. Victoria wanted to ask questions about that woman. She had heard enough to know Ilsa was probably a spy, too. Her mum was retired from spying, and sometimes Victoria wished Mummy still spied so Daddy didn’t have to work with people like that Ilsa or that Carina Miller.

Of course, there would be no one to take care of her and Jack if Mummy went back to spying. Victoria didn’t know about Jack, but she kind of liked having Mummy at home all the time, especially when Daddy had to go away to do his job.

“Do you think Ilsa might be the woman you saw?” her grandfather asked.

Victoria shook off the memory of that zoo trip and thought about it. “She looked kind of like her, but I’d have to see her again to be sure.”

As she watched, Uncle Chuck sat beside her. He looked upset, but then Aunt Ellie was his big sister and Clara was his niece, so she thought he probably felt as bad as she did about Jack. Grandpa V. H. said he’d see her that evening and told her to hug her mum for him. When she promised to do so and hung up Daddy’s phone, Uncle Chuck looked at her.

He seemed really sad. Victoria wondered if Jack missed her like Uncle Chuck was missing his big sister. “Are you okay?” she asked, mainly because that’s what Mummy always did when Victoria was sad.

Uncle Chuck’s smile wasn’t very big, and his face didn’t light up like it usually did when he smiled. “Are you?” he asked.

Victoria nearly told him he wasn’t supposed to answer questions with other questions, but she didn’t. “Do they know how to get them back?”

As she watched his eyes go darker and his face pale, Victoria knew the answer before he told her. “They have some ideas about where to look.”

That meant no, Victoria thought.

“Victoria,” Uncle Chuck asked, “did you see the other men?”

“Other men?” She didn’t remember any men except the one she seemed to have described a hundred times to a bunch of different grownups.

“There were four men besides the one you saw,” he told her.

Thinking hard, Victoria tried to remember who she had seen in the store—because she was certain she’d seen no one else following them. There had been some mums and kids, some people she figured were college students, and some other grownups who had been busy shopping. She would need to know more about the additional men before she could tell Uncle Chuck anything, so she explained that to him.

Before Uncle Chuck could say anything, though, Daddy was back, and he looked both mad and worried. He went straight to Mummy, said something to her, and then they came over to Victoria. “Ready to go home, kiddo?”

She was about to ask why they were going home, why Daddy wasn’t going after whoever took Jack, but then she thought maybe he was making sure she and Mummy got back to their house safely before he did. Victoria nodded, and Daddy held his hand out to her. He looked at Uncle Chuck, who had stood when Daddy walked up. “You and Walker are going to have to go with a couple of FBI agents to your sister’s house,” he told Uncle Chuck. “They have to search the place.”

Uncle Chuck spluttered a minute. “Why would they search Ellie’s house?” he demanded. “It’s not like any of us kidnapped them!”

Daddy’s voice dropped, and he said, “Because, numbnuts, they’re the FBI, and it’s what they do best. Walker knows how to make sure they don’t look too closely at anything they don’t need to see, but we’re going to have to let them do it.”

“Why aren’t they searching your and Mariah’s place, then?” Uncle Chuck asked.

“They are,” Daddy growled.

That made Uncle Chuck blink. “But you’re the superspy!” he said. “Don’t you have immunity from suspicion or something?”

As soon as he said it, Uncle Chuck went beet red.

Daddy’s jaw tightened, and he looked like he could murder Uncle Chuck. Victoria couldn’t help wondering why. Well, why this time, because Daddy sometimes looked at Uncle Chuck like the happiest moment of his life would be getting to kill Uncle Chuck. It was really kind of scary, and it always made Victoria glad Daddy never looked at her like that. “You get a head injury, Bartowski? Lobotomy maybe? Laudanol ring any bells?” Daddy demanded. Uncle Chuck looked like he wanted to run, but he held his ground. Victoria was pretty sure she was missing something. “We’re all suspects until we’re ruled out. It’s how the game’s played.”

Victoria frowned, wondered what kind of game the grownups were playing where Jack and Aunt Ellie and Clara were stolen. She didn’t like this game because it scared her and her mummy, and that wasn’t nice at all.

“But we have alibis!” Uncle Chuck protested.

“Doesn’t mean we didn’t have it done, Bartowski.”

Frowning even harder, Victoria wondered why anyone would think Daddy would have someone steal Jack—or Uncle Chuck would steal his sister and niece. Anyone who knew them would know they wouldn’t do anything bad to the people they loved. As soon as she thought it, she realized that was the problem—they didn’t know them.

Daddy dropped her hand and put an arm around Mummy when she crossed to them, and then Mummy took Victoria’s hand. Daddy’s FBI friend was there, and he walked in front of them to the store doors. When they stepped outside, there were several agents who walked to a big, dark SUV with them. Victoria heard people shout questions, but Mummy and Daddy ignored them. Mummy walked with her head down, her face white, and Victoria saw that Daddy’s arm tightened a little around her. He put Mummy in the back seat and then lifted Victoria up on the seat after her before he closed the door. He got in next and drove the car a little way and out from the side of the building so that the FBI man could get in the other front seat.

Mummy gave Victoria a wobbly smile as they drove out of the parking lot. Victoria thought she looked like she would start crying any moment, but she didn’t. Victoria reached over and took her hand. Mummy squeezed it, and her smile wobbled a little less.

They drove past a bunch of people being held back by the police, and some of them had cameras. “Vultures,” Daddy growled quietly as he turned onto Clark to take them home.

There were people waiting for them at their house, and since they all wore badges that looked like the FBI man’s, Victoria assumed they were FBI agents. Daddy and Mummy took her through to the kitchen, but just before Daddy went with his friend to search the house, Mummy had said, “John,” softly. Daddy stopped, and Mummy said something to him so quietly Victoria couldn’t hear. He nodded, quickly kissed Mummy, and then left them there. An FBI woman stayed behind with them.

Mummy asked the woman her name, and she told them it was Mary Branton. Mummy asked Agent Branton if she wanted something to drink. The woman said no, but Mummy filled a tea kettle with fresh water and put it on the stove. Victoria noticed her hands shook a little while she did it. Then Mummy asked the agent if she wanted to sit, but the woman shook her head no. Mummy sat at the table, and Victoria took the seat next to her.

While they sat there and waited for Daddy to come back, the silence began to bug Victoria. She began to think through how she might help Daddy find Jack. She thought about the apartment buildings on the street behind the store and the kids from school she knew who lived there. She wondered if she could ask to go play, could go see one of them and ask questions. Maybe one of them saw Clara and Jack and Clara’s mum being taken away.

As she watched the FBI woman study them, it occurred to her that they might as well be under arrest, that she wasn’t going to be allowed to go anywhere—or at least anywhere alone.

_Plan B_ , she thought, though she wasn’t sure what her backup plan would be. Daddy said every operation should have a Plan B, though, so she needed one. Finally, she hit on Skype or FaceTime. Facebook would be easiest, but a lot of people got on it, so they would be able to see what Victoria was asking and what her friends said in response. If the people who had Jack and Clara and Aunt Ellie saw, they might be in more trouble. Skype or FaceTime might be more secure.

Mummy and Daddy didn’t like her being on social media, though. They worried someone who didn’t like them would find her, especially since she looked a lot like Mummy, so she didn’t post pictures or anything like that, and she never talked about her Daddy because he was a spy and because he had told her not to in case bad guys saw it. She didn’t talk about Mummy, either, or Grandma Ariel or Grandpa V. H. because her grandma was famous and her grandpa was a spy, too.

E-mail was for old people, so she ruled that out, especially because she knew Daddy’s work read people’s e-mails.

She wondered again whether Skype or FaceTime was secure, but then she decided she’d just have to risk it. After all, if her friends saw anything, the sooner she knew, the sooner she could tell Daddy, and the sooner he could find Jack.

If it weren’t for the FBI lady, Victoria would get a notebook and start making lists. She liked lists. They helped her remember everything, and they helped make it easier for her to see that she wasn’t missing something. Victoria was certain the FBI lady was there to make sure they stayed where they were.

When Mummy’s teakettle whistled, she asked Victoria if she would like some tea. She shook her head. Mummy asked the FBI woman, but she said no, too. Mummy spooned loose tea into a metal thing, put it in a cup, and poured boiling water over it.

Victoria studied Mummy, thought she looked stiff. She watched Mummy hug her tummy like it didn’t feel good, and she worried. Sometimes Mummy had problems breathing, and it usually happened when she was afraid. Mummy looked kind of like she did one time when something bad happened to Daddy. She had looked like she couldn’t breathe at all, and she had shaken and sweat. It had scared Victoria badly because she thought Mummy might suffocate, but after a long time, she was kind of alright again. Mummy said it was anxiety. No, Victoria remembered, an anxiety attack, but she remembered thinking at the time she hadn’t seen anything attack her mum.

She had never told her Daddy about that because he worried about Mummy too much.

Victoria relaxed when Daddy finally came back in the kitchen. Mummy stood by the sink, having just put a little sugar in her tea. He handed Mummy a pill bottle before he took the seat Mummy had been sitting in. Mummy got a glass and filled it with water before she took some of the pills. The FBI woman narrowed her eyes as she watched Mummy take the medicine.

When Mummy came back to the table with her tea, Daddy caught her hand, pulled her in his lap, and Victoria smiled. They did that a lot. Daddy liked to touch Mummy, and her mum was always more relaxed when he did. Victoria noticed he sat Mummy down so her back was to the FBI woman who used the opportunity to look at what Mummy had taken.

If Victoria had expected they would talk about Jack, she was wrong. Instead, Mummy told Daddy she didn’t know what they’d eat because she hadn’t got the groceries after all. Daddy said it didn’t matter. They’d find something. Victoria was kind of hungry, but she wasn’t sure she could eat anything because she felt kind of sick to her stomach. She realized that was because she was worried about Jack.

Mummy told Daddy they could order out later, she supposed, but Victoria couldn’t think about food. Instead, she began to wonder if whoever had Jack was hurting him. She wondered if Jack knew where the vulnerable parts on people’s bodies were and how to hurt them so he could run away. It was getting dark outside, so she wondered if he would be able to find somewhere safe if he did get away.

But he was only two, and in Jack’s world, bad things didn’t happen. Mainly that’s because none of them let him know bad things happened. He fell down and got hurt sometimes, but nothing truly bad had happened around him that Victoria knew of. This was the first time anyone had tried to steal him, and it made her kind of mad that the first time someone tried, they got lucky. Victoria was determined that no one else would get lucky if they tried to take her brother again after they got him back.

“Are they searching our house because they think Jack’s here?” she asked her Daddy when there was a lull in their conversation. Daddy had distracted Mummy by talking about Christmas, but Victoria had tuned it out to think about what to do about Jack. Now, both her parents looked at her. She didn’t think it was a strange question because she heard a news story once where a man said his son had been kidnapped and they found him a few days later in his dad’s basement.

Mummy looked at Daddy, who looked back at her. “They have to make sure he isn’t here, Victoria,” he agreed quietly, “but they also have to look for anything that might indicate one of us had something to do with his disappearance.”

She screwed up her face after thinking that through. She thought Daddy might be right: the FBI was pretty dumb, especially if they thought any of them had anything to do with Jack getting stolen. “We didn’t take Jack, Daddy, so why would they think we did?”

This time Mummy answered. “Because a lot of children who are taken are taken by someone they know or by someone in their family. If it’s family, though, it’s usually a noncustodial parent.”

Victoria tried to puzzle that out. The only thing related to _custodial_ she knew was the man who fixed things and cleaned her school, so that didn’t make a lot of sense because he was a nice old man and because she knew _non_ meant not, so a parent who didn’t clean didn’t make any sense to her. Then again, she knew kids got taken away from their mums and dads if their houses were really nasty, so maybe that was the kind of parents Mummy meant. She’d have to look that up later. “What happens when they don’t find anything?”

Daddy’s friend was back before he could answer that, and there were two different women FBI agents with him. Victoria watched as they were introduced, and then another FBI man came in and was introduced. Victoria didn’t like him at all, and when he went out their back door, she considered whether or not she could get past him if she had to follow up on anything she learned online later.

Daddy and his FBI friend talked a little, and Daddy’s friend told Mummy not to go anywhere or let Victoria go anywhere. She narrowed her eyes at him and decided that if she had to go ask questions of her friends or see something, she’d just have to figure out how to get out and go do it.

Motioning to Daddy, his friend nodded at Mummy, who let Daddy up. They left the kitchen, and Mummy sat where Daddy had been. “They will find Jack,” her mum assured her. “It’s just a matter of time.”

When Mummy hugged her, she felt a little better. Mummy seemed to relax a little, too.

 

\----------X-----------

 

Dietrich was giving Casey his own hard stare when he hung up the phone after V. H. promised to send the information on Quinnell immediately.

“National security,” Casey said, handing Dietrich’s phone back to him.

“Bullshit!” the other man snapped back.

“Alright,” Casey agreed tightly, “ _international_ security.”

Dietrich crossed his arms and cranked up a brow. “All I need to know is the full name of the man you recognized who’s part of _my_ case.”

About to ignore him, Casey paused. It was true Warren Quinnell was on Casey’s very personal treasonous scumbag list because of Riah and because of the man’s connections to the Ring, but it was also true that Quinnell was involved in a very personal case on which Dietrich was running point. Casey would have to tell him, so he did. He further promised that as soon as he had the files from V. H., he’d share what he could.

Somewhat mollified, Dietrich nodded. “You know we have to search your house—the Woodcombs’, too—and set up surveillance in case they call in a ransom.”

Casey sighed. He’d forgotten about that part of this kind of case, though he strongly doubted there would be a ransom call. It was far more likely they’d never hear from whomever took them, especially if the Intersect really was at the bottom of it. To contact them, after all, might give them actionable information they could follow up on and could possibly lead them to them. Nonetheless, Casey would have to give Dietrich’s team access and play as nicely as he could within the law and within the government’s secrecy policies.

“When you do ours, part of the search has to be supervised because of what I do and the presence of sensitive information.” Dietrich nodded his understanding. “You can tap the landline, but there’ll be no monitoring our cells or our computers.” Casey waited for the other man’s nod; for a moment, he thought he wouldn’t get it. If he had to, he’d barter on Riah’s phone, he decided as he waited, but his was a definite no-go. He supposed he could have his agency forward any recorded calls Dietrich needed if it became necessary. “I’ll put up with an agent or two underfoot, but they stay out of the way. If my boss decides our people take over, then they’re out.”

Dietrich looked like he wanted to object, but he huffed a sigh and agreed.

With a sigh of his own, Casey said, “Let’s get this done.” After all, there was little more to learn in the store.

He drove Riah and Victoria home, Dietrich riding shotgun, while a couple of FBI agents took Walker and Bartowski. Walker was going to the Woodcomb house to do what needed to be done while Bartowski went to the hospital where he could intercept Woodcomb, who was, according to the hospital, still in surgery. They didn’t need Captain Awesome blindsided by any press who might have learned who had been taken, after all.

There were three FBI cars illegally parked on their street and six agents waiting when they got home. Curious neighbors stared out windows, stood on stoops. Casey figured Beckman was going to blow several gaskets because he doubted they could contain this. With any luck, though, Beckman could convince the media that it was a national security issue and that coverage was to be limited—no names, no footage that showed Casey or his family, Bartowski, or Walker, let alone where they lived. He suspected a new team of agents would be working to get in place by morning on his operation, and he grew even more certain of that when he watched a news van pull into the other end of their street. There had been three news teams and a gaggle of other reporters at the store, all of whom he’d ignored. He appreciated the fact that the Chicago PD and Dietrich’s people had kept them far away.

With any luck, they would assume he was one of Dietrich’s agents and not the father of the missing boy.

He quickly escorted his wife and daughter inside the house and back to the kitchen where they waited while the FBI searched the rest of the house. Casey took Dietrich to the room he used as an office and watched the man search it. Riah had whispered in his ear just before they left her in the kitchen with Victoria, and when Dietrich finished his part of the search, Casey stopped him before they exited. “I need to get something for my wife from our bathroom.”

After he locked his office, they walked into the master bedroom where Dietrich waved at the two agents going through the room to continue what they were doing. He followed Casey to the bathroom, watched as he opened the cupboard above the sink and took one of the three prescription bottles from the top shelf. It spoke volumes about what keeping outwardly calm had cost his wife that she asked for the anti-anxiety medication now in his hand, especially since she generally refused to take any of the medications prescribed her until it was too late for it to do her any real good. He handed the bottle to Dietrich, watched the man read the label, open it, look inside, give it a shake, and then close it once more before handing it back. He could read the question in his old friend’s eyes, but he didn’t explain. They would be doing a very thorough background check into Riah—him, too—he knew, and Dietrich would see for himself.

Once more in the kitchen, he slipped the pill bottle to Riah and sat at the table where Victoria waited. He ignored the agent Dietrich had left with them and talked softly to his daughter while his wife ran water into a glass. Riah’s hands shook as she opened the bottle and spilled the dosage into her hand, he noticed, and when she had swallowed the pills, emptied the glass, and set it on the counter, he reached out, caught her hand, and drew her to him. He pulled her into his lap, which made Victoria smile for a split-second, and settled in to wait.

Riah wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his own arms around her waist. He steered his conversation with Victoria to mundane topics, mainly in hopes that Riah would relax, let the medication do its work. He didn’t want her to have a meltdown, didn’t want Victoria to see what happened to her mother when panic took over.

Victoria, though, was clearly circling the issue. Her little face was pale and pinched, and occasionally she asked a question related to the investigation. For the first time, it began to dawn on Casey that they might have taught their daughter a little too much about the family business. She looked like she was plotting, and given his daughter was a headstrong little thing, he suspected she would probably act. He just hoped she thought it through, or, even better, consulted one of her parents so they could discourage her. The last thing he needed was to have Victoria taken as well.

That would absolutely destroy his wife.

He was reluctant to admit it would kill him, too.

When Dietrich, followed by two of his agents, walked in, Casey and his wife were talking about dinner options. Casey hoped Victoria would let her questions go, would settle in and help him comfort her mother. It was already bad enough that she knew her mother’s weakness, but Casey was willing to exploit that if it meant keeping both of them safe while he worked to get Jack back, especially if he didn’t need to worry about what his daughter might be up to at the same time.

The two agents who had trailed Dietrich were both female, and the one who had been in the kitchen with his family left as they entered. Dietrich introduced them as Sally Miller and Miranda Kelly. He told Casey and his family the two agents would stay with them that night. He explained that two other agents would be outside—pointed at the man who then entered the kitchen, whom he introduced as Phil Wolinsky—unless Casey wanted his own team there. Wolinsky went out the back door while Dietrich gave him the name of the other agent, told Casey he’d introduce him later, and went on and explained the protocol for answering the phone. Casey noticed he skipped the parts about how to keep the kidnappers talking. Casey and Riah both knew the drill from their own training, and he appreciated not being treated like they were morons.

“Stay in,” Dietrich added, addressing his comments to Riah. “Keep your daughter home and inside until this is over. If you need to leave the house for anything, one of my agents goes with you if you absolutely must go out, but I’d prefer you arranged for someone else to run any errands for you.”

Riah nodded. Victoria remained silent, but Casey caught a look on her face that meant he’d need to reinforce a few rules for her.

When the other man suggested Casey walk him out, Riah stood and let him get to his feet. He followed Dietrich, and in the foyer his old friend reminded him. “I need the Quinnell information as soon as you get it.”

Casey nodded.

Dietrich hesitated. “You might want to close the drapes and keep them closed.”

Because his wife was claustrophobic, that would only add to her anxiety, so he was about to tell Dietrich to mind his own damn business. Something in the other man’s expression made Casey looked out the high, beveled glass panes set in the door next to where they stood. The vultures had descended, and the numbers were far greater than Casey would have expected.

“The agents out front tell me someone connected your wife and children to Ariel Taylor. There’ve been calls from several newspapers and one of the networks asking if it’s true. We stonewalled them, but there’ll be a rupture somewhere, and then the press will be thicker than they already are—more aggressive, too.” Dietrich sighed. “We’ll push them back to the intersections, but they’ll still be able to see the house and annoy your neighbors.”

Casey knew the media whores would be aggressive and would definitely annoy the neighbors. It was the kind of sexy headline media outlets loved—daylight abduction of three people, two of whom were children and one of whom was a highly respected doctor, and no known leads. Add to that the fact that one of the children was Ariel Taylor’s grandson, and the circus would be the full three rings, especially once Riah’s mother turned up in Chicago. He needed to call his boss since it wouldn’t take long to connect the dots from Ariel to Casey. After that came the possibility someone would figure out what he really did for a living. “Thanks for the warning.”

“For what it’s worth, Casey,” Dietrich sighed, “maybe you should pack up and go, leave someone here to watch things while you, Mariah, and your daughter hide out in a safe house somewhere.”

“Not going to happen.” Casey wasn’t leaving without Jack, and he knew Riah felt the same way. He also knew they had to make things as normal as possible for Victoria, not that that would prove an easy task with press outside their home and FBI agents inside it.

Dietrich helped him pull drapes on the ground floor, both of them keeping out of sight through the windows as they did so. Casey didn’t mind the gloom, but he knew it would make Riah crazy. She had no curtains in the kitchen, so when Dietrich left, Casey immediately headed there to get her and Victoria and take them upstairs. The yard, what there was of it, was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, but he knew the reporters would eventually find a neighbor who would take money for a vantage point, and his and his family’s privacy would be invaded whether they wished it or not.

Casey conveniently ignored the ways in which he’d invaded other people’s privacy as part of his job. Those scum had been suspects, enemies of the state, criminals, not a family who was only of interest because Jack had been taken by some ideologue who was most likely after a top-secret technology that had repeatedly endangered them all.

They settled in the master bedroom after Casey had his wife and daughter stay in the hallway until he could close the drapes on the row of windows that covered most of the wall. He handed Victoria the television remote and waited until she flopped on the love seat and found something to watch before drawing Riah to the bed across the long, narrow space from where their daughter had taken root. Riah had had a wall knocked out so that their bedroom spanned the width of the house on the end facing the street.

Victoria found and then stared at cartoons. Casey was pretty sure that little head of hers was whirling. He was fairly certain Victoria would be turning the day’s events over and over in her head, another trait she shared with both her parents, so he considered how he was going to convince her not to act on any ideas that sprouted in that sharp little brain of hers.

Once he had Riah settled on the bed beside him, he took out his phone. He called Beckman first. His boss expressed concern as he ran through it and what they had managed to learn so far. Riah went rigid when he told the General he’d recognized Warren Quinnell. His wife’s face, as she listened while he told Beckman, was agonized. He pressed a soft kiss on Riah’s mouth as the General asked if he’d contacted V. H.

Only then did he realize that he hadn’t yet checked to see if the ISI files had come through.

Riah had a small laptop on her bedside table. When he pointed, she picked it up and booted it, put her password in to unlock it, and handed it to him.

¬¬¬¬¬Casey let her keep the illusion that he didn’t know what her password was.

V. H., true to his word, had sent the information. Casey forwarded it to Beckman along with the supermarket video Dietrich’s people had sent him as well. Riah recovered her computer while he and the General continued their discussion. His wife opened the files, began reading. He promised Beckman he would talk to Bartowski and Walker as soon as possible. When the General then asked what they had been able to learn from the FBI, he admitted it wasn’t much. He was thankful she didn’t ream him out for abandoning Walker and the Intersect in favor of his own family. If she had, he’d have quit. He’d already sacrificed precious time by sending Dietrich and sticking to his assignment. That was not happening again—his boss’s orders notwithstanding. Not surprisingly, she had some choice words when he told her members of the media had set up shop outside his house.

“Let’s hope they don’t discover that you are anything other than a Marine officer,” she said tartly. “I’ll send someone to act as spokesman for your family.”

Casey had a feeling the press would assume he was with the FBI unless they learned otherwise. After all, he’d been driving a government vehicle and flashed his badge, though he didn’t remember if there had been any press around when he arrived at the grocery. That thought startled him, since it was unlike him not to have it all imprinted in his head. Nonetheless, he was glad to let Beckman send someone to manage the media ghouls.

Riah frowned, having clearly overheard. He knew Ariel would have her own people, and they would have to find a way to convince her to let Beckman’s agent take lead. Casey suspected V. H. might have a few instructions as well. “Let’s hope that isn’t necessary.”

“If wishes were horses, Colonel.”

It didn’t surprise him when she then told him someone else would take over the operation he’d been supervising, but Casey, for once, wasn’t going to argue. Getting Jack back was more important, should have been more important at the time Victoria had called him.

For a moment, Casey considered the fact that before his children were born, he wouldn’t have given any of that a single thought, and he would now be insisting he remain on his assignment. He wondered if that was because he felt guilty for not having abandoned it or if it was because he was turning into the kind of emotional mush that made him crazy when he saw it in Bartowski.

When the call ended, Riah absently said, still reading the files on her computer, “Isn’t it going to look suspicious for a Marine officer and his wife to have a spokesperson?”

Tempted to tell her the assumption would be whoever yammered on their behalf with the press worked for Ariel, he held it back, considered a moment. Then he asked his wife, “Have you told your mother?”

Riah nodded. “She’ll be here as soon as she can. They had a show in Seattle.”

The past tense told him it had been cancelled. Then again, Ariel was a selfish bitch at best, so it was entirely possible she was, at that moment preparing to go on stage and wouldn’t leave the coast until she had finished.

“Emma?”

Once more Riah nodded. “She wants to come stay with us.”

Casey thought that was a good idea. Emma was steady, didn’t flap, and she always had a calming effect on her sister. She was also fiercely protective of Riah and would be able to help distract Victoria. “Let her.”

“Have you talked to Chuck and Sarah?”

He shook his head. “I suppose I need to find out what they’ve been able to learn.”

“Call.”

He did. Riah got up, walked over to where their daughter sat, took a seat beside her. Casey watched as mother and daughter spoke, which they did too softly for him to hear.

Walker knew no more than he did, less, in fact, so he caught her up to speed, gave her Quinnell’s name and suggested she review footage from the hospital where the Woodcombs worked to see if he’d been there, perhaps had scouted Ellie. Casey would never admit it, but he still clung to the hope that Jack hadn’t been a target, had simply been with the wrong people when they were taken. While it was unlikely given Quinnell’s involvement, if that turned out to be the case, it also meant Casey’s son might be more expendable, a thought Casey would never give voice. He forwarded Quinnell’s file to Walker and, belatedly, Dietrich.

Woodcomb, though, was apparently beside himself, and Walker told him Bartowski was trying to deal with his brother-in-law’s despair. Casey was simply glad he wasn’t the one who had to deal with the other man’s emotional distress. Ellie’s husband hadn’t seen anything unusual, though, and neither Ellie nor Clara had reported seeing anyone or anything out of the ordinary to him. Casey wasn’t surprised, knew all of them had become complacent in the intervening years since Stephen Bartowski had been killed, the Ring and Shaw taken down, Alexei Volkoff, too. It had seemed as though once they left Echo Park, the Woodcombs had gone off Bartowski’s enemies’ radar, and any vigilance the Woodcombs had once had had been left on the west coast.

Of course, that probably had more to do with the government planting seeds that the Intersect project was dead, had failed and was too risky to the human host, along with the news that Bartowski no longer had it. Bartowski still did—or, rather, did again—but this time around, that was probably the most tightly-held, need-to-know secret the CIA had.

Casey rubbed a hand over his face, watched Riah and Victoria, as they watched some pre-tween program on some kid’s channel on the television. It was time to think about how to get his son back, time to consider strategy for doing so, and as Riah smiled at their daughter, pressed a kiss to her forehead, it was time to figure out how to keep his wife and his daughter from finding out what he was up to when he formulated a plan and set it in motion.


	4. Chapter 4

They ate carryout, which was fine with Victoria. Mummy ordered from a bistro on Clark, and one of the FBI women picked it up. Victoria could tell Daddy was having a hard time staying put because he kind of fidgeted, something he rarely did, and he kept looking out the windows, putting a hand in the pocket where he kept his phone. Mummy simply tried to remain calm, though Victoria didn’t think Daddy’s fidgeting helped.

Victoria used their distraction to plan.

After dinner, during which Daddy managed not to fidget and Mummy managed to relax a little, Daddy helped Mummy clean the kitchen. Victoria wondered if she could use the iPad to get online again. Her mum was pretty strict about bedtime, and while Daddy could sometimes be persuaded to let her stay up later than usual, she had a feeling this would be one time he would insist she go to bed on time. Victoria watched her dad slide an arm around her mum and lean down and kiss her cheek as they finished loading the dishwasher. It would be to her advantage to be a good girl and go to bed without complaint.

After all, she was pretty sure Daddy was going to be distracted taking care of Mummy or by finally going to find Jack, so that made it more likely Victoria could use the computer without them knowing.

Mummy looked really tired when she suggested Victoria get her bath. That suggestion was never really a suggestion, though Mummy usually phrased it like it was. Victoria didn’t complain, but she noticed Daddy gave her a suspicious look when she didn’t argue. She would have to think of some way to make sure he didn’t figure out what she had in mind because she had a feeling he’d tell her not to do it.

As she took her bath, she decided the smartest thing to do would be to use Mummy’s iPad. It was still in Victoria’s room since she and Mummy had used it that morning to look online for part of Daddy’s Christmas present. As long as Mummy didn’t pick it up and take it with her after she and Daddy read her bedtime story, Victoria would be able to get online and find out if Tori or any of their other friends had seen anything Daddy could use to find Jack.

It was hard not to be impatient while Mummy read from _On the Banks of Plum Creek_. They had started reading the Little House books after coming to Chicago, and Victoria liked them—except for _Farmer Boy_ , which she had found kind of boring since Almanzo and his family weren’t nearly as interesting as Laura and her family. When Mummy finished, Victoria scooted down under her blankets, let Mummy kiss her.

While Mummy crossed her room to put the book away, Daddy gave Victoria a look that almost made her confess her plan, so she was glad it was just firm look and not a hard one. After a moment, Daddy bent and kissed her goodnight before telling her quietly, “No playing spy, Victoria.”

She couldn’t stop the frown, especially since she wasn’t going to _play_ spy; she was going to _be_ a spy, and a good one, like Daddy.

Before she could protest, Daddy added, “Let the grownups find Jack. This is very dangerous, and your mother and I would really rather not have to worry about you as well as your brother.”

“I wouldn’t do anything that would make you worry,” she assured him, tried to give him the big blue eyes so she would look innocent.

It was easy to see Daddy didn’t miss that she hadn’t said she wouldn’t spy. “Victoria, you’re not to interfere.”

She wasn’t going to lie because Daddy was really good at spotting them. She must be like Uncle Chuck and do something with her face that told him she wasn’t being truthful even when she was absolutely certain she hadn’t moved a single muscle in her face. “I love you, Daddy,” she said instead, hoped he’d leave it at that.

Mummy put her hand on Daddy’s shoulder and gave Victoria a worried look. “Your father is right,” Mummy said. “You mustn’t try and help, Victoria, because you aren’t equipped for this.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that if Daddy had let her bring her gun to Chicago, she would be better equipped, but she knew better than to do that because she and Daddy both would be in a lot of trouble. Her mum clearly expected an answer, though. If Victoria gave one, it would either have to be a lie or the truth, and if she told her mum what she planned, they’d take the iPad and anything else she might use to find out about Jack and the people who took him. “I’m not a spy,” she sighed, put a little disgust into it, “so why would I try to be one?”

Mummy looked kind of relieved, but Daddy’s eyes narrowed. Victoria could tell he knew what she was doing, but he apparently decided not to call her on it, moved her blankets up her chest a little, and, finally, cranked up one of his brows and said, “Just don’t.” Then he kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes, waited until Mummy and Daddy shut off her light. She waited some more to make sure they didn’t come back to check on her. She heard them walk down the hall, heard their door close, and still she waited. Finally, she got up and got the iPad from her desk, took it back to her bed.

It took Victoria a little while to find Tori on FaceTime. It was a good thing Tori hadn’t been creative with her ID. She had to put up with some boring stuff about what Tori had been doing that day, but when the other girl said, “Something happened at the market this afternoon,” Victoria perked up.

“I know,” she told Tori. “Did you see anything?”

Tori made a face. “I was watching for my dad to come home,” she said. “I saw a bunch of men walking Clara Woodcomb and her mom out of the store. They had some other little kid, too.”

Victoria’s heart raced. She couldn’t say she knew what was going on or that the other kid was Jack or that they’d been kidnapped, so she asked, “Where did they go?”

Tori shrugged. “My mom said there was a kidnapping at the store today, so I guess it was the police taking them somewhere safe.”

It figured that Tori would get it wrong, but then Tori wasn’t interested in much of anything that wasn’t about her. Victoria tried to figure out how to get her to tell her more of what she saw without having to tell the other girl what had really happened and what she had really seen. “Why do you think it was the police?” she asked. Uncle Chuck hadn’t said the extra four men wore police uniforms, so she wondered why Tori thought they might be police.

Another shrug lifted Tori’s shoulders. “They all wore suits, and they got into a big, black SUV.”

Victoria wanted to pounce on that and demand that she tell her more, but she swallowed her excitement, remembered how Daddy did things, and simply asked, “Which way did they go?”

Thankfully, Tori didn’t shrug again because that was really beginning to annoy Victoria. “They drove toward Deming.”

Tori changed the subject then, started talking about what she asked Santa to get her for Christmas. Victoria wondered how long she had to listen to Tori’s list before she could say goodnight and move on to Karen Banks who lived on Deming near Orchard. Finally, Tori’s mom yelled it was time for her to go to bed, so Victoria said goodnight and disconnected.

She’d talked to Karen online before, so it was easy to find her.

“Clara Woodcomb and her mom got kidnapped!” Karen said breathlessly when they connected.

That made it easier, Victoria thought. “I heard.”

“The news said there was some other kid taken with them,” Karen rushed on, “but they didn’t say who it was.”

Victoria knew not to tell her it was Jack. “I was just talking to Tori,” Victoria said, “and she said they got in a big black SUV that headed toward Deming.”

Karen frowned. “My mom and I were walking down the street. There was nearly a wreck when a car like that ran the stop sign.”

“Yeah?” Victoria asked and tried not to sound very excited.

“They turned in front of a car and headed toward Orchard,” Karen rushed on. “Mom said it was a miracle no one got killed.”

Victoria wondered if there had been a wreck after all. Then again, Deming wasn’t a really big street, and it was one-way.

Before she could ask, Karen told her, “The car they ran in front of hit two parked cars.”

Karen described the wreck in more detail than Victoria wanted to hear, including that another car nearly hit the one that wrecked, but she supposed it didn’t matter since she couldn’t think of anyone else who might have seen where they went after Karen saw them. At Orchard they would have had to turn right, and that would take them out of the area where anyone Victoria knew lived. She and Karen talked a little about Christmas, and then Karen’s mom came and told her it was time to go to bed.

Victoria got out of bed and turned on her lamp so she could find a notebook and pencil to write down what she had learned. She was nearly finished when she heard a noise in the hall. She flipped the light off when she realized it was her parents’ bedroom door opening. She held her breath, hoped it wasn’t one of them coming to check on her. Their footsteps went in the other direction. After a few minutes, she turned the lamp back on and finished writing everything down.

Then she thought about what to do with it. It was important, she knew, but it was also possible the FBI already knew what she did from talking to people at the store. She considered taking it to one of the FBI women Daddy’s friend left with them, but she would really prefer to give it to Daddy. She didn’t think he’d be mad that she had played spy when he knew what she’d found out, especially since she’d done it in such a way that she hadn’t been at risk.

She decided Daddy could ground her if he wanted, as she put her robe on and stuck her notes in a pocket before she left her room. The FBI agent at the end of the hall crossed her arms and eyed Victoria.

“Um,” Victoria said while she thought hard for a believable excuse for her to be out of bed. She knew Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t be too mad when they found out what she knew about the men who took Jack, but she had a feeling the FBI agent would be really mad at what she’d done. “I need a drink.”

The agent eyed her for several long seconds, but then she dropped her arms and moved so Victoria could pass.

There were voices in Daddy’s office. Victoria was relieved to hear her grandpa’s voice. He’d know what to do with what she had. She was sure he wouldn’t ground her, thought Daddy might not ground her when she told him what she had learned, and only then did it occur to her to wonder if Chicago had webcams in Lincoln Park. Mummy, when she was a little homesick for Canada, sometimes looked at the ones of St. John’s in Newfoundland. She would point out houses or shops and tell Victoria stories about the people who lived in the houses or shopped in the stores. She looked at ones from Ottawa sometimes, too.

Her Daddy was at his desk, and Grandpa V. H. sat on the other side of it. Both of them looked kind of sad. She closed the door so the FBI wouldn’t hear. Daddy and Grandpa V. H. had that smelly stuff they liked to drink in front of them. Grandpa V. H. let her taste it once, but it had been awful, made it hard to breathe since it felt like it burned her chest from the inside out. She couldn’t understand why they drank that stuff.

Grandpa V. H. said, “Hello, Victoria.” There was something in his voice that wasn’t quite suspicion.

“Why are you out of bed?” Daddy asked, but he didn’t sound mad.

Victoria breathed in deeply and walked around the desk to Daddy’s chair. “Don’t get mad,” she said.

“That’s never good,” Grandpa V. H. growled. She gave him one of Daddy’s stares and wondered why everyone laughed when she did that.

“Why do you think I’ll get mad?” Daddy asked.

Turning her attention back to him, she reached in her pocket. She took out her notes and said, “I talked to Tori and Karen on Mummy’s iPad. Tori saw the men who took Jack and Aunt Ellie and Clara get in an SUV and drive down Cleveland to Deming. Karen saw the SUV pull out in front of another car that wrecked.”

Daddy’s eyes bored into her. “You shouldn’t tell people what happened,” he began, but Victoria, even though she knew it was rude and would get her in trouble, cut him off.

“I didn’t,” she swore. “Tori just told me what she saw, so I asked questions. When her mum made her go to bed, I talked to Karen. She said she’d heard Clara was kidnapped, and I told her I heard that, too. I told her what Tori told me, and she told me about the wreck.” She put her notes on Daddy’s desk. “I wrote down what they said so you can use it to find Jack.”

Daddy pulled her onto his lap and read through what she’d written.

Victoria looked over at her grandpa. He gave her a smile, one of the encouraging kind. She looked at Daddy when he finished reading and asked, “Do they have cameras on the streets here like the ones Mummy looks at when she misses Canada?”

Her daddy wasn’t often taken by surprise, but there was a flicker that told her he just had been. He quickly hid it, though, and Victoria stored that away. She wondered if he ever missed where he was from.

“I’ll find out,” Daddy promised.

“That was a good idea,” her grandfather said, “asking your friends what they saw, but you need to let us look further.” He lifted a brow. “No one can find out Jack was the other child taken.”

Victoria knew that was because they were spies. She didn’t think that should matter, knew there were people who would recognize Jack anyway, especially their neighbors. She wondered if there would be some kind of picture they would put on TV that would show her brother, like those Crime Stopper things they saw sometimes.

She knew what was expected, though, so she sighed and said, “Okay.”

Daddy hugged her, kissed her cheek, and to her surprise, he didn’t make her leave, go back to bed. Instead, he took his phone and set it on the desk, called the mean general he worked for and put it on speaker. He told General Beckman what Victoria had learned, and the little redheaded lady said, “I’ll let our agents on the ground know. Tell your daughter she did well.”

Victoria grinned at her grandpa, but she didn’t say anything. She had a feeling Daddy’s boss wouldn’t be happy if she knew Victoria was there.

After they hung up, Daddy looked at Victoria and said, “Since you’re up, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and help your mother and aunt Emma hold off your grandmother.”

She’d rather stay with them, but she knew Daddy got mad when her grandmother upset Mummy. Victoria hugged him, and he whispered, “You did good,” in her ear.

She ran around Daddy’s desk and hugged her grandpa, who hugged her back. “Well done.”

When Victoria got to the kitchen, Mummy looked upset as Grandma Ariel fired questions at her about Jack and the men who had taken him. Aunt Emma shut her up by saying, “Hi, Victoria.”

She ran to her aunt, threw her arms around her, and hoped it would make Grandma Ariel stop making Mummy shake and stammer out things that sounded more like apologies than information about Jack being stolen. Daddy usually didn’t leave Mummy with her mum because Grandma Ariel was good at upsetting Mummy, and that always made Daddy angry. Sometimes he and Grandma Ariel said terrible things to one another, but that only upset Mummy even more.

Though she was tempted to tell Mummy what she had found out, she didn’t. Instead, when Aunt Emma let her go, Victoria crossed to her mum and hugged her. Mummy gave her a kind of wobbly smile. Victoria tried to think of a way to get a real one.

They talked about Christmas, and Victoria felt a little sick. She didn’t think they should plan because they didn’t know if Jack would be there. She hoped Daddy found him quickly, but she knew that sometimes things like this took a long time. They wouldn’t still be in Chicago if things could always be done quickly.

Mummy must have known what she was thinking because she hugged Victoria closer and bent to say softly, “They will find him.”

Victoria really wanted to tell Mummy what she knew. Instead, she whispered, “I know.”

This time, Mummy’s smile was more normal.

 

\----------X----------

 

Once they had fed Victoria—one of the agents had gone to pick up carryout from a bistro on Clark that Riah ordered—Casey and his wife followed through with their daughter’s normal nighttime routine. He doubted it would settle either mother or daughter, but he went along with it, suspected Riah was the one who most needed that bit of normalcy. He was certain of it after he saw her expression when she walked past Jack’s closed door after they tucked Victoria in and read her a chapter out of one of the Little House books of which she had become enamored. Casey’s throat had thickened, when he saw the naked pain on his wife’s face, and he’d taken her hand, held it tightly as he walked her to their own room.

She finally broke when they were inside, and he very nearly broke with her.

He held her while she cried, great wracking sobs of the sort she normally repressed when she was hit hard emotionally. Each one scraped, lacerated, and he once more thought he should have gone to her immediately, shouldn’t have stayed with the job.

Afraid of saying something wrong, afraid of making it worse for Riah, Casey remained silent, clung to her just as she clung tightly to him, and as her grief poured out, he took her to their bed, drew her down with him, wrapped himself around her, and let her despair cut into him. Casey second guessed everything he’d done since he answered his daughter’s telephone call, but he didn’t like the conclusions he reached. He couldn’t have prevented what happened—logic told him that—but he couldn’t help feeling he should have left his post immediately, gone to Riah when Victoria called, and tried to see what he could do.

When Riah finally stopped, only let out a sniffle now and then, he still held her. By then he’d moved from recriminations to thinking about early that morning when the jostling bed had awakened him.

He’d been sprawled on his back in the dimmed morning light created by the drawn curtains and the snow falling outside. Something stalking across the mattress caused the movement that had awakened him, and he’d heard Jack’s rich giggle as Casey struggled to get fully awake. He’d cracked an eye open as his son flopped down beside him and smiled at the boy. He shifted his arm and put his hand on his son’s head, ran his fingers in the silky hair covering Jack’s scalp.

The boy’s hair was soft, a little too long, and prone to curl. It had been a very long time since his own had been long enough to show the same tendency. Jack had batted his hand away, so Casey asked in a voice like gravel, “Where’s your mom?”

“Food!”

Jack was a miser with words, rarely doled more than one or two out at a time, apparently from some belief that when one word would suffice, more than one was a waste of time and breath. When Casey complained, Riah generally told him their son’s tendency toward truncated communication was a sure sign his own genetic material ran true in Jack, claimed it must be something in the Casey Y chromosome.

It probably had more to do with the fact that Jack was only two, nearly two and a half, and he apparently had no need to use words to communicate in most circumstances.

Casey interpreted Jack’s monosyllabic response to his question as Riah was making breakfast downstairs.

He lifted his head and squinted at the clock. It had been a late night. He, Walker, and Bartowski had done a little reconnaissance for the operation they would move to the next phase that afternoon. He figured he’d had maybe three hours sleep before Jack decided to wake him. Then Casey saw the cup on the nightstand. He loved his wife for that still-steaming mug of coffee, even if she’d used the opportunity to dump Jack safely out of her way with him when she left it there. He lifted on his elbows, shifted on the mattress so he could pull one of Riah’s pillows over, and moved so he was propped up enough to drink the coffee without spilling it. He stretched an arm to move Jack before he reached for the cup.

Jack, though, eluded him, rolled to his knees and walked on them to Riah’s side of the bed. He plucked a lidded sippy cup from the nightstand and then scrambled back across the mattress before he lay back down, his head on Casey’s shoulder and drank some of whatever his mother had given him while Casey took a hit of caffeine. Casey folded the arm beneath his son so his hand rested on Jack’s stomach. “What’s your mom fixing for breakfast, little man?”

His son screwed his head up and around to look at him. “French toast!” The boy’s enthusiasm punctuated the words. Casey knew french toast was Jack’s favorite, but then he remembered that Riah had made that swirled pound cake with the molasses and pecans he liked for dessert the night before—not to mention the bourbon sauce she’d served with it. Grimes often swore he could eat a car if Casey’s wife poured that sauce over it first. He gave a little grin, knew his wife was probably reheating that thick, buttery sauce to use as syrup and making the french toast out of the leftover cake. She would serve scrambled eggs and sausage links, too, perhaps some fruit, so that it wasn’t purely sugar their children fed on, but Jack would do his best to only eat the repurposed cake.

He had, too, Casey reflected. Riah had turned a blind eye once their son nibbled a little sausage and dutifully ate two or three mouthfuls of egg and a chunk or two of melon. Under other circumstances, Casey would blame that particular bit of willfulness from his son on his wife, but now he simply hoped his son really did take after Riah, who had almost always kept her head, even, apparently, as a child.

Riah had been abducted when she was seven years old, the same age Victoria was now. His wife had never once spoken of it, but Casey had seen ISI’s files. He would kill Quinnell and the others if they inflicted on Jack even a fraction of the damage Riah’s childhood kidnappers had on her.

His hand stroked up and down his wife’s spine. Casey remembered what Victoria had said while they were still in the grocery: She had known what happened to her mother. Casey sincerely hoped she didn’t know all of it. His daughter worried more than a child ought to.

He swallowed thickly again. Riah had more than once pointed out that being their child was neither a safe nor easy path, but for the most part, Victoria and Jack had been spared any of the things she had endured in her own childhood. They had both of their parents, and Casey and Riah loved each other, rarely fought in front of their kids, and never on the scale of the battles Riah had once described between her own parents.

It occurred to him then that he and Riah had prepared Victoria for what could happen, had taught her how to be wary, to escape grownups, to be suspicious of people, to survive, but by the time Jack had come along, they had simply been vigilant for him.

Domesticity led to complacency, and Casey knew now he’d been right to distrust it all these years.

“Victoria says we should have taught him what we did her,” Riah said in a voice barely above a choked whisper.

He leaned back, studied her pale face. Her red-rimmed eyes held a kind of agony he hadn’t seen there in a very long time. Briefly, Casey considered making a joke. “When we get him back,” he promised instead. He didn’t point out that Victoria had been older than Jack when they began that “training.” Their son was barely able to control his own limbs, as Victoria pointed out in continual exasperation, let alone execute evasive maneuvers.

The corners of Riah’s mouth lifted slightly, briefly, but that emotionally gutted look remained. “That’s what she said.” For a moment, he thought she might be about to cry once more, but Riah simply breathed deeply a time or two, calmed a little. “That doesn’t help him now.”

Casey pressed a kiss against her forehead, tempted to remind her that she hadn’t been prepared when it happened to her, but he didn’t. Like Jack, she’d been raised by a spy (two, in their son’s case), but unlike Jack, she’d not had a stable childhood, and she’d apparently always distrusted grownups. His son, on the other hand, seemed to believe grownups existed to entertain him. Jack might not talk much, but he trusted, sometimes when he probably shouldn’t. Casey wished, for once, that their son had more of his parents’ reticence. He’d seen Jack’s easy comfort with others as a plus, even slightly envied it. Now he was less certain it was an asset.

The only comfort he could offer was, “Ellie’s with him.”

Riah screwed her eyes tightly closed a moment, tensed. “We don’t know that,” she said softly, a slight hitch in her voice. Before he could tell her they could hope, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I first met Isobel Gerrard a month or so before I was abducted. Dad took me to ISI where she taught me some very basic self-defense.”

For a second, he wondered what that had to do with the possibility that Ellie might not have been allowed to stay with the children. Then, Casey held his breath. He wondered if she would finally tell him, wondered if she’d fill in the blanks of what he’d read in the file V. H. had sent him years before.

“There were things I knew that were instinct—listen, watch and remember everything. Don’t trust any of the men in the masks, don’t eat or drink anything they gave me, don’t let them hurt me badly enough I couldn’t survive, and don’t do anything that might provoke them into killing me.” She sighed, her eyes dropped closed again, and she burrowed closer, buried her head beneath his chin. “Most of all, say nothing.”

Casey studied her when she finally tilted her head back away from him, slowly opened her eyes. He noted the paleness of her skin, the shadows in the blue depths of her eyes, and wondered what she might have been inculcating in their children based on that long-ago event.

“They took me from my bed, John. I never fully woke up, and when I finally did, far from where I’d gone to sleep, I thought I was imagining it because it was so dark.” She went on with an eerie, clinical precision to tell him how she had figured out she was being held in a modified walk-in closet with no light and no discernable door from the inside. She explained how she had walked it off, estimated its size based on the length of her feet, and how she had carefully listened, tried to figure out all she could from the voices of the men who held her.

He had a whole new appreciation for her paranoia as she explained further about half-heard, half-understood things her father and his friends had said in her presence. “They were good lessons,” she assured him. “They kept me alive.”

His wife sighed then, and Casey took the opportunity to move her just that little bit closer, to kiss her. He wanted to tell her Jack would be fine, but unlike their son, she’d had the advantage of being old enough to know things, even if she hadn’t completely understood them.

“I never saw him, John,” she said quietly, and Casey frowned, wondered who she meant. “I never saw the man Victoria saw. I’ve gotten sloppy, forgotten we aren’t normal people, forgotten people come after us, forgotten our children are at risk.”

He pulled her closer. “This isn’t your fault, Riah.”

“We don’t know that,” she said. “This could be about me, about the Montreal Project, or about us—you and me.” She swallowed thickly. “I should have been more observant, should have been looking for threats. I should have seen the man Victoria saw, the woman, too.”

Casey wanted to tell her that she couldn’t have known, but there was some truth in her self-chastisement. She was out of the habit of looking for threats. “Riah, this is no more your fault than it is Victoria’s.”

Once more, he itched to be doing something other than providing an anchor for Riah, a tether she could hold onto in order to keep from sinking beneath the waves of misplaced guilt. He felt he should be out doing something that would see to it Jack came safely home.

There was an epiphany then, though it didn’t blindside him quite the way the ones he’d had earlier in their marriage had: she needed him.

It wasn’t that great a shock, really, but it was the first time it consciously occurred to him that she needed more from him than the kind of support he’d always been told a husband should provide: money, shelter, children, love. It wasn’t as if she was financially dependent on him—certainly he could have quit work and their joint funds could have kept them in luxury for the rest of their lives, Jack’s and Victoria’s, too. She didn’t need the money or the rest of it, though; she simply needed him.

That troubled him. He pulled her even closer, thought hard for the very first time about what might happen to her if he finally ran into the asshole who could outsmart him, if he finally overlooked something in planning an op that got him killed, or if he finally faced an opponent who was simply faster.

It had been different when he was young and single with only his immediate family to be upset by his loss—though even then he had largely been absent from their lives when his own became imperiled as a matter of course. It had been only a little different when he’d been not-so-young, hadn’t known he had a child, let alone watched two of his children come into the world. He simply hadn’t given thought to all the possible consequences of something going fatally wrong on his job.

He’d done what he was supposed to so that Riah and their children—Alex, too—didn’t suffer materially. There were insurance policies, a will, trust funds. It simply never dawned on him to think about what it would do to Riah if he died in the line of duty while their children were still too young to understand.

Casey mentally stepped back, reconsidered. It was quite possible it wasn’t him on whom she had become dependent but that she was instead dependent on her role as mother. Admittedly, she had been left with little else when she quit ISI the second time. Riah repeatedly told him she didn’t mind, that she wanted to stay home with Victoria and Jack, but now Casey wondered if she had simply been telling him something she thought he wanted to hear.

After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t dive in enthusiastically on those occasions when she could be of use to him and his government. It wasn’t as if she didn’t take on the odd bit of work her father sent her way, either. She thrived on the excitement every bit as much as Casey did, but she seemed to find it surprisingly easy to return to being the housewife she claimed she wished to be once the excitement was over.

For the first time, Casey wondered if she might want to do something else when he finally retired and was home more, something likely to happen within the next decade. In that moment, Casey realized how much _he_ needed her.

He’d always prided himself on his self-reliance, on his ability to walk away from emotional entanglements, to come out unscathed from nearly every previous relationship in which he’d been involved.

Casey paused there, knew there were two relationships from which he still had scars, and amended that thought. He ran a hand up Riah’s spine again, let it slowly slide down once more. He had a few from this one as well, but for the first time, he realized that unlike Kathleen or Ilsa, losing Riah would wound him far more than losing the other two women had.

After she’d been shot on that ISI training ground, he’d first had an idea of what Riah’s death could do to him. Losing her now would bleed him dry. Losing his children would cut as deeply. He closed his eyes, pictured Jack, and hoped like hell he didn’t have to find out whether he could survive losing any of them.

Faint music sounded. Riah tensed, then pushed at him. “My phone,” she said flatly. He let her go, watched as she rolled off the bed to find it. She moved stiffly across the room to the small table near the love seat where she’d plugged the phone in to charge and picked it up. Casey sat up, wondered who it was.

It didn’t take long to discover the answer. He heard Riah’s voice break on the word, “Mum.”

She looked as though she was about to cry once more, so Casey got off the bed, walked toward her. “They’re all over the street, Mum.”

So Ariel must already be in town and considering visiting her daughter, Casey concluded. He thought it would be good for Riah to have her mother there—provided Ariel played nicely. He figured the media voyeurs outside would keep her away, though. Even as he thought it, he couldn’t quite stop his own knee-jerk reaction, which was that she might like playing the distraught grandmother for the cameras.

He was surprised to hear Riah say, “John’s right here.”

She handed him the phone. She gave a soft snort at his puzzled frown and shook her head as he gingerly took it and held it to his ear.

“V. H. and I are a couple of blocks over,” Ariel said briskly. “We’re going to park on the street behind yours and come through the yard behind you to the back. V. H. thought I should tell you so none of your people shoot us.”

“I’ll let the agents know we’re being invaded,” he assured her.

Ariel dryly stated, “That would be appreciated—especially if one of them could unlock the gate.”

Because he had the feeling she wasn’t finished, he waited.

“Emma’s with us,” she told him. “She’s worried about Mariah and Victoria, so if it’s alright, she’s coming with us. If not, I’ll need you or your people to help her get home again.”

Casey assured her Emma was more than welcome.

“We’re almost there,” she said. “See you in a few minutes.”

Handing his wife’s phone back to her, he said, “Let’s go.”

He took Riah’s hand firmly in his, and when they stepped off the stairs on the ground floor, they were intercepted by Kelly. He quietly explained to the woman his in-laws were headed through the yard behind them and asked that someone make sure they got safely inside. Kelly was on her radio and headed toward the back door the second he finished.

“We should go, too,” Riah said.

Casey shook his head. “We both need to stay out of sight. Let them do their jobs.”

Emma came through the kitchen door first, and he released Riah’s hand as she started toward her sister. The taller girl hugged his wife, and Casey nodded at V. H., who came inside behind her. Ariel was next, and then Kelly. Kelly quickly left them alone in the kitchen, but Casey couldn’t help wondering if she was listening in despite giving them the illusion of privacy.

“I’ve got people hunting Quinnell,” V. H. told him softly as he shook Casey’s hand. “Diane does as well, and your friend Dietrich has been in touch.” Having apparently managed to get him up to speed as much as V. H. could with possible listeners, his father-in-law then asked, “How is she holding up?”

“Better than expected,” Casey admitted, then wished he’d simply said _fine_. He watched Ariel cling to her daughter, noted his mother-in-law’s distress, and wondered if he had once again underestimated the woman.

“That means she’ll probably crash even harder when this is over.”

Casey frowned at V. H. when it sank in that the other man hadn’t said when they got Jack back. He knew they had to consider the possibility, and Casey suddenly understood the false optimism he’d watched others give the distraught as well as the false hope victim’s families often fed on so they could keep going. It used to irritate the hell out of him, made him want to reinforce that there might not be a happy ending to the situation in which they had found themselves. Now, he wanted to cling to the idea that Jack and the others would be fine, that they would find them and rescue them.

Ariel had released Riah, who wrapped her arms around her abdomen. Casey noticed his wife had cracked a little further. He wanted to go to her, but Emma was suddenly in front of him. Then she crushed him.

It was easier these days to hug her back, though a part of him still squirmed. Like V. H., she softly asked how Riah was doing; Casey told her she was fine.

Emma’s face was solemn when she let him go. “You have to get him back,” she said. “It’ll kill Mariah if you don’t.”

Well aware, Casey found he couldn’t speak, couldn’t say what he thought or even the words that would reassure her. He knew what she said was true, and he was equally aware that he had already failed his wife and son by not acting sooner.

“Have you eaten?” his wife asked. They told her they had, and Casey got the feeling Riah was disappointed, would have liked having something to do, something that would require her to focus on anything but her worry about their son.

“Where’s Victoria?” V. H. asked.

“Asleep,” Riah told them, which reminded Casey he had a bone to pick with the man. He caught V. H.’s eye as Riah turned to Emma and asked if she’d be staying with them or going home. Casey tilted his head and gave his father-in-law a hard stare.

V. H. followed him out of the kitchen to Casey’s office. When he unlocked the door and ushered the other man inside, Casey didn’t bother with the usual niceties for these kinds of discussions. “Why in hell did you tell Victoria about her mother’s abduction?” he ground out.

His father-in-law lifted his hands in surrender. “It’s a good cautionary lesson.”

“It’s a good way to scare the hell out of my daughter, who blames herself for what happened,” Casey countered roughly. “It’ll probably contribute to her nightmares tonight, and it makes her worry more about her mother.” V. H. only reacted to the last part, so Casey drove his point home by adding, “She stayed with Riah in the store because she was worried her mother would be abducted. Instead, her brother was.”

Half expecting V. H. to tell him it could have been worse—a fact Casey was well aware of—he was surprised when the other man paled, looked haunted a moment. “Have you considered your daughter needs more fun in her life?”

If that was supposed to be a joke, Casey didn’t find it in the least funny. “I could say the same of your daughter, but that doesn’t change the fact that my daughter needs to be aware of the risks. _Your_ daughter should have been more aware when she was Victoria’s age.”

Anger drove the last part of that, Casey admitted, but he didn’t soften his expression or his stance. He admitted, though, he generally blamed both V. H. and Ariel for much of the pain his wife suffered, knew many of Riah’s hang ups were traceable to the former couple, so he wasn’t about to apologize, especially not when Casey had enough trouble knowing where the balance of caution and fear was with his own daughter.

A momentary twinge of conscience made him realize he should have considered that balance with his son as well.

“Point taken,” V. H. clipped out. “If we’re finished accusing one another of being bad fathers, then let’s figure out what we’re going to do—because you and I both know neither of us is willing to sit back and wait on the FBI and the Chicago police.”

Setting aside his own feelings, Casey gestured at a chair. He got the scotch bottle and a couple of glasses, handed one to V. H. and splashed whisky in it before taking his own glass around the desk and pouring his own. He recorked the bottle and set it to the side, watched V. H. lift his glass and hold it so the light filtered through it. “No one has a line on Quinnell yet,” his father-in-law began, “though I’ve been told that before today he was last seen in Detroit.”

“How long ago?” Casey asked as the man sipped his whisky.

“A week.” V. H. sat back and eyed him. “I assume he was on his way here. He crossed the Ambassador Bridge from Windsor.” V. H. reached inside his coat and pulled out a stack of papers he handed across to Casey.

The top photograph showed Quinnell behind the wheel of a truck. There was a familiar man with him. The report accompanying the pictures said they used American passports claiming they were Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. Casey decided he was going to insist whoever was in charge of that particular border crossing be fired along with the customs agents and anyone else who should have caught on. He’d have admired the chutzpah it took to use those names if he weren’t so pissed off that whoever checked their ID hadn’t known the old comedic duo or questioned the identities of Quinnell and the man with him. He looked closer at the sidekick, thought the man might be one of the goons who’d been with Quinnell at the store.

He handed the photographs and the report back to V. H. “Any idea what’s going on?”

The other man stuffed the papers back in his jacket. “None. There are no whispers we can run to ground about what Quinnell is after, but I’ve already fired two people for not knowing he’d been in Canada.” V. H. steeled himself. “We traced him to Newfoundland immediately prior to his jaunt across the border. He apparently knew you and Mariah were going there for Christmas.”

Casey felt heat ride up under his skin. “I thought Riah should go back, face her fears,” he admitted, “but the only person I told was the caretaker so the house would be ready.”

“She’s in detention until we know more,” V. H. assured him angrily. “The only thing she’s admitted so far was that she told a man she’d gone out with a few times that her boss was coming for the holidays. She claims to have met the man in St. John’s while she was shopping.”

“Quinnell?” Casey asked tightly.

V. H. shook his head. “She didn’t recognize his photograph, but she did identify one of Bailey Ford.”

Casey’s temper heated from simmer to rolling boil. He knew Ford. The little weasel was CIA, and he couldn’t help wondering why V. H. had shown the woman the operative’s photo. He asked.

“It was a decoy,” V. H. admitted. They often used agents to pad out a photographic line up if they didn’t have enough pictures to draw from that met the general description, but Casey was still curious how his father-in-law had happened to have a photograph of a CIA officer. “Our bureau chief in St. John’s used him on a case involving American fishermen smuggling in sex workers from central Europe. Some of the women were spies finding an easy way into the United States. Ford was the liaison with ISI. The bureau chief apparently scanned a copy of the man’s passport and ID.”

It was a violation of protocol, but Casey was more than willing to let it slide since it meant they had another puzzle piece.

“Had you told Diane you were taking Mariah and your kids to Witless Bay?”

Shaking his head, Casey repeated, “I’d only told the caretaker.” He stopped a second, realized he’d told five others—if he didn’t count Alex and Grimes. Dietrich didn’t count since he hadn’t given the man specifics. “I told Walker, but she wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“You’re certain of that?”

Casey had been until V. H. asked. The truth was that if Chuck was in danger, Walker would deflect the enemy to a more convenient target—even if that target was Casey’s wife. No, he decided, Walker wouldn’t have told anyone except Chuck. He thought hard, finally decided the weak link was probably Grimes. “I told Bartowski and the Woodcombs, but I doubt they would have told anyone else.” He sighed. “I think we’ll have a chance to interrogate the most likely source tomorrow.”

The other man’s expression suggested Casey spill. He nearly didn’t, but he realized fingering Grimes as the culprit could kill a couple of birds—and if Morgan Grimes was one of them, Casey wouldn’t be bereft. “I told Alex,” he admitted, “and I suspect her husband shared with others.”

“Ford?”

Casey shrugged. “Or someone else from the Company who might have told him. After all, my daughter and her idiot husband are coming here to go to Newfoundland with us.” He sighed. “Grimes kept his hand in the spy business,” Casey admitted, stifled the instinctive cringe he felt at the idea. “The Burbank Buy More underwent a turnaround.” He didn’t admit that was because the government began routing some purchases through the store to keep it and their investment in what was underneath it alive and viable. “He’s the store manager, and he makes sure we still have access to Castle when we need it.”

The man opposite him looked stunned. Virtually no one knew what Casey had just told him. Truthfully, Castle was mostly used by Bartowski and Walker, though other CIA officers occasionally made use of it. At least one CIA officer remained on the Buy More payroll at all times—though they had, thankfully, given up calling them Greta.

“Grimes told someone,” V. H. deadpanned. “Great.”

Casey shared his sarcasm since it was self-evident Grimes remained a moron. “It’s the most likely possibility.”

V. H. sighed. “Quinnell must have decided making a move before you left Chicago was his best bet, and since this was timed for while you were otherwise occupied, they got my daughter and grandchildren at their most vulnerable.” He raked his good hand over his iron-gray hair. “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t take Mariah and Victoria as well.”

Casey took a fortifying swallow of his Macallan. “Victoria thinks it’s because they mistook Ellie and Clara Woodcomb for them.”

“Quinnell would know Mariah if he saw her,” Adderly reminded him, “but I’m not sure he’d recognize Victoria.”

He had agreed to let the FBI tap his landline, so he drew his cellphone from his pocket, put it on speaker, and called Beckman. The general sounded her usual cranky self when she answered. “V. H. Adderly is here,” Casey told her.

His father-in-law caught his boss up to date with what he’d learned.

“I’ll find Agent Ford,” she said crisply. “I think, though, Colonel, we should get all the players in one place. Alex and Morgan Grimes need to be brought to Chicago, preferably as soon as possible.”

Casey met V. H.’s eyes.

“I’ll send my plane for them, but let’s pick them up at a smaller, more out of the way airport,” the other man told Beckman. They agreed on John Wayne Airport in Orange County.

It was left to Casey to tell his daughter and son-in-law. He considered how to get them safely to the airport, but he finally concluded it was best not to have them escorted. He doubted they were under direct surveillance. After all, Grimes had likely already spilled anything he knew.

He quickly placed the call, talked to Alex. It meant he had to explain about Jack, and while he would have preferred not to worry her, he decided she needed to know why he insisted she be more careful than usual. He trusted her, but he couldn’t quite say the same of Grimes. Casey prefaced his explanation with a warning not to tell her husband what he was about to tell her, and once he secured her promise, he explained.

Casey had long felt fortunate that Alex loved her half-siblings, but as her concern welled, Casey wished he’d waited until she arrived in Chicago to tell her what had happened. It was done though, so he did his best to reassure her, convince her there were no threats to her or Grimes. Casey figured Bartowski would be more than a little stir-crazy by the time they arrived, so he’d be happy to have something to do, Walker, too. They could protect Alex and her unborn child.

Alex asked about Riah and Victoria, and Casey told her the truth, that both of them were on edge.

“Hug them for me,” Alex said, and though many people said such things as a matter of course, Casey knew his daughter actually meant it. He promised to do so.

It was only after she told him, “I love you, Dad,” that Casey began to choke up. He grumbled the sentiment back at her, and then he sat at his desk and realized how fortunate he was that she hadn’t resented him, refused further contact with him when he told her who he was.

“It never goes away,” V. H. said softly, finished his scotch. “They could be little old women, never face a single threat, but you’ll still worry about your daughters.”

Before Casey could answer, Victoria came in the door. She looked impossibly young with her long hair in twin braids wearing lavender pajamas and a purple fleece robe. She also wore a determined look so uncannily like her mother’s it set Casey on edge.

V. H. shot him a look before offering a mild, “Hello, Victoria.”

“Why are you out of bed?” Casey asked. It was obviously not a nightmare because his daughter didn’t appear frightened or upset, and while she was prone to prowling the house at night, she normally tried to avoid her parents who would only send her back to bed.

His daughter marched determinedly around his desk to stand beside him. “Don’t get mad,” she told him.

“That’s never good,” V. H. growled. Victoria turned and gave her grandfather a hard stare. Casey was amused by that, though his daughter certainly wasn’t amused when it simply made the other man laugh.

“Why do you think I’ll get mad?”

Victoria returned her attention to him and fished in a robe pocket. She removed several sheets of paper and told him, “I talked to Tori and Karen on Mummy’s iPad. Tori saw the men who took Jack and Aunt Ellie and Clara get in an SUV and drive down Cleveland to Deming. Karen saw the SUV pull out in front of another car that wrecked.”

Stunned, Casey wondered who Tori and Karen were and why they had told Victoria what they had. His heart sank that Victoria might have told them what had happened in order to get that information, and he rapidly considered damage control, worried about what might be repeated, what might spread, how that might taint their investigation. “You shouldn’t tell people what happened,” he told her tightly, tried not to sound mad because she managed to get the first real lead that might help them find where Quinnell and his thugs took Jack and the Woodcombs.

“I didn’t,” she swore. Casey could tell she told the truth. She told him the two girls already knew about the kidnapping, said she asked questions after they raised the subject first. He wondered whether the Chicago PD had talked to either girl when they canvassed the neighborhood. Victoria put her pages on his desk. “I wrote down what they said so you can use it to find Jack.”

Uncertain how to respond, he pulled her into his lap while he read through what she’d written. The details were listed much like he would see in a routine intelligence report, and he wondered if she had been practicing some of her spy skills on his files.

Casey studied her when he finished, wondered how he was going to explain this to Dietrich when he suggested they look for any CCTV the city kept on their streets and intersections.

Victoria asked him, “Do they have cameras on the streets here like the ones Mummy looks at when she misses Canada?”

Despite making a career of not showing his thoughts, there were times when he would swear his wife knew exactly what he was thinking, but this was the first time their daughter had demonstrated a similar talent. The part that surprised him most, though, was her assertion that Riah missed Canada. His wife had never said so, never suggested going unless she’d received an invitation from her father. Casey wondered if Riah thought he would refuse to go if she asked.

For now, though, he set that aside, needed to get Dietrich the information his daughter had learned. It wasn’t a lot, but at least they had a vehicle and witnesses who had seen it. They had a direction to chase as well. He promised Victoria, “I’ll find out.”

Her grandfather praised her before sternly adding, “No one can find out Jack was the other child taken.”

That saved Casey from having to make her feel she was in trouble.

When she agreed, Casey pulled her in, kissed her cheek, and then decided she could be party to one part of reporting her information forward. He chose to tell Beckman first. Dietrich would involve strategy. Casey wanted his daughter out of this investigation. He took his phone, set it on the desk once more, and called Beckman for the second time that evening. Victoria remained silent while he told the General what Victoria had learned. When he finished, his boss simply said, “I’ll let our agents on the ground know. Tell your daughter she did well.”

Victoria grinned, but she didn’t say anything.

After they hung up, Casey looked at his daughter and said, “Since you’re up, why don’t you go down to the kitchen and help your mother and aunt Emma hold off your grandmother.”

Her little face wasn’t hard to read, but he needed to call Dietrich when Victoria wouldn’t know what they decided. He wanted her out of this investigation before something happened that made the situation worse. Not that he thought his daughter would be the cause of that, but he didn’t want her to think she had been.

Still, he was proud of what she’d learned and how she’d done it. His daughter hugged him, and he whispered, “You did good,” in her ear.

She ran around his desk and hugged V. H., who told her, “Well done.”

He was dialing the phone before the door completely closed. “I was about to call you,” Dietrich growled in his ear. The FBI agent sounded out of breath. “I’m coming up your walk, and you and your daughter have some explaining to do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Victoria heard Daddy’s voice, but it wasn’t loud enough to make out what he was saying. At first she thought he and her grandpa were finished talking and were coming to the kitchen, but his voice got fainter rather than louder. Then she heard an angry man, realized it was Daddy’s FBI friend. She looked at her mum. The FBI man sounded really mad, so she figured someone told him what Victoria had done.

Mummy must have heard him, too, because she went a little paler, met Victoria’s eyes, and bent down to whisper, “Don’t get caught.”

She stared, startled. Mummy gave her a little nod and released her. As she made her way down the hall, she figured Mummy just wanted to know what was going on but couldn’t leave Grandma Ariel and Aunt Emma alone in the kitchen. After all, Daddy usually grumbled about her grandma Ariel needing be under full-time guard.

It wasn’t that hard to hear through the door because Daddy’s friend was yelling at him about her. She was really sorry she got Daddy in trouble. Victoria wanted to go tell that man it wasn’t fair to yell at him. She really didn’t want him to yell at her, though, so she just stayed to the side of the door where they wouldn’t see any shifts in the light underneath and know she was there. She listened carefully.

Maybe she was a coward, Victoria thought, as she strained to hear when things got quiet again. After all, she let that man yell at Daddy instead of yelling at her. Cowards were bad, she knew, though she once heard Daddy tell Uncle Chuck that sometimes being afraid was a good thing. That hadn’t made a lot of sense to Victoria, but she hadn’t wanted to ask what he meant because then he’d know she’d been sneaky again.

What she didn’t count on was getting caught by one of the FBI women. This one didn’t look very nice even though she was the one who had gone to get their dinner earlier. She wasn’t all that tall, but she looked like she never smiled. Her eyes narrowed on Victoria, and she started bearing down on her. Victoria retreated down the hall back to the kitchen.

Mummy seemed surprised to see her back so soon, but she held an arm out to her. Victoria went to her mum, who wrapped the arm she held out around her and gave the FBI woman a stern look. The FBI woman went back the way she came after a few moments.

Grandma Ariel and Aunt Emma were talking about Grandpa Ben, who was gone to a conference and due back in a couple of days, so Victoria whispered to Mummy, “I got caught.”

“So I saw,” she said. “What did you hear?”

“Daddy’s going to work for the FBI.”

Mummy’s expression worried Victoria. Looking closer, though, she decided Mummy just couldn’t believe it. Victoria was sure she must have misheard that, but Daddy’s friend had gone on and talked to Grandpa V. H. about it and gave Daddy some rules for being in the FBI that didn’t sound like the real rules to her. She told her mum, “That man says that if Daddy doesn’t toe the line, they will revoke something and burn him.”

She hadn’t liked the sound of that, worried what they might use to burn Daddy. Uncle Chuck had told Uncle Morgan and Alex one time about someone named Gruber Daddy had threatened to burn with a torch to try and get him to talk. Victoria didn’t think Daddy could be that mean, and she certainly didn’t think Daddy’s friend should burn Daddy if he didn’t follow orders.

Her mum, though, stifled a laugh, which confused Victoria because she had been sure Mummy would be mad that man threatened to hurt Daddy. “What else did you hear?”

She felt heat in her face. “He yelled at Daddy because I meddled, but Daddy and Grandpa V. H. told him my meddling at least got them a lead.”

That was when she remembered Mummy didn’t know yet. Her mum’s expression was puzzled, but her eyes looked afraid again, so Victoria quickly explained what she’d told Daddy about what Tori and Karen saw. Mummy hugged her a little tighter, said softly, “You did very well, Victoria, but I think you should probably bow out of this investigation while you’re ahead.” Mummy stared into her eyes a few moments, and then she gave her a sad smile. “I’m very proud of you for that.”

Her mum kissed her forehead then and wrapped her arms around her to pull her closer. Victoria snuggled against her mum. She was kind of tired, but she decided she’d stay awake at least until Daddy came back for them. She didn’t want Grandma Ariel to pick on Mummy, and without Daddy there, Victoria was afraid she might.

Aunt Emma looked over at her and asked if she would like to go back upstairs. Victoria wanted to be there when the FBI man left, so she shook her head, and Mummy hugged her a little tighter for a second.

When her mum told her grandma, “We need to talk about Louise,” Victoria wondered who that was.

Grandma Ariel leaned back against a cabinet and said, “I can have her or one of her minions here by morning.”

Victoria knew she didn’t mean minions like the ones in _Despicable Me_ , but she thought it would be kind of cool if she did.

“That’s what we need to talk about,” Mummy said, and Victoria felt her mum stiffen a little. She wondered if they were about to have a fight. “John has to be protected, and that means we have to carefully control what’s said about our family as well as the visuals. His boss will probably send someone to deal with the press, and since they’ve already made a connection to you, it would probably look better if whoever it is could claim to work for Louise.”

Victoria watched her grandmother think. After a few minutes, she came and sat down at the table where Mummy and Victoria were. “There’s no way anyone would believe it, Mariah.”

Mummy lifted her chin. “If we were in Los Angeles or New York that would likely be true because they all know who Louise’s people are. Here in Chicago, though, they will likely assume whoever it is really is a publicist.”

Emma joined them then. “The media here would know anyone local, and Louise has an office here. Besides, what if someone checks with Louise?”

“That’s why we’re having this conversation,” Mummy told her. “Mum, I need you to clear it with Louise. You and I both know what will happen if the government has to go to Louise and insist.”

Victoria wondered who this Louise was. She sounded way scarier than Daddy’s boss, so she wondered if this Louise was a redhead.

Grandma Ariel sighed. “I’ll give her a call.” She looked at her watch, and Victoria figured she was calculating the time difference. “I’ll need to know who you’re going to use so she knows what to say if someone checks their credentials.” She studied Mummy a second. “You do know that there are those who will question Louise sending someone new—because it won’t just be Chicago media—to speak for me and my family, don’t you?”

Victoria looked at her mum, watched her chew her lower lip. Mummy sighed, and then said, “We’ll simply have to risk it. I’m sure whoever Diane Beckman sends will have the right experience, but Louise will have to be on board.” Victoria felt Mummy relax. “As soon as Dad and John finish talking to Alan Dietrich, I’ll find out who the General intends to have handle the press.”

“Have you given any thought to the fact that you have a houseful of guests due to begin arriving tomorrow?” Grandma Ariel asked.

Mummy rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “John and I will have to talk about that,” she said quietly. “I suspect we’ll simply call and cancel.” All of a sudden, Mummy went absolutely rigid, and Victoria heard her breath hitch. She leaned away from her mum and studied her, hoped she wasn’t about to have another one of those attacks.

“Oh, God,” Mummy moaned. “I need to call Jane.”

“Didn’t your husband already do that?” Grandma Ariel asked. Victoria didn’t like the snotty way she said it.

There was a horrified look on Mummy’s face. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “He asked me if I had called you and Emma, but he never said whether he had called his own family.”

That seemed to be Grandma Ariel’s signal to be mean about Daddy. “Mariah, that husband of yours constantly puts his job before family, so I doubt he thought to tell any of them—though I’ll bet he’s called that little tyrant of his every hour on the hour.” Victoria gave her grandmother a hard stare despite the fact that she agreed General Beckman was a little tyrant—and she was sure that’s who her grandma meant. “He’s a like a damned dog on a very short leash.”

As her grandmother said those things, Mummy sat up straighter, and her eyes narrowed. She was flushed as she bit out, “John has good reason to put his job first, Mother, and I don’t begrudge that. You will _not_ denigrate that or him.”

For the first time, Victoria wondered if her grandmother knew that making Mummy mad helped her control things. Daddy had certainly figured that out, so Victoria thought maybe Grandma Ariel, who’d known Mummy longer, might have, too. She just wished her grandmother would find some other way than being mean about Daddy to do it.

Her grandmother suggested, “It’s getting late on the east coast. Why don’t you call Jane and see if her son bothered to tell her about her grandson’s kidnapping?” Then Grandma Ariel reached across and took Mummy’s free hand, said gently, “I can call her if you’d like.”

For one of the first times in her life, Victoria saw her mother’s indecision. “I should let John tell her,” Mummy said softly, “if he hasn’t already.”

Grandma Ariel rolled her eyes, which made Victoria mad. She knew her grandma was about to say something mean, and she knew it would hurt Mummy.”

“If I haven’t what already?” Daddy asked with a hint of angry underneath. Victoria relaxed, and so did Mummy.

“Told your family someone took your son,” Grandma Ariel snapped.

Daddy blinked, looked at Mummy, and Victoria realized he probably hadn’t told Grandma Jane after all. “I told Alex,” he said silkily, “but I hoped we would know more before I called Mom and got her excited.”

“Have you considered someone else might have already told her?”

From the sound of that, Grandma Ariel was mad for Grandma Jane, which made Victoria wonder if Daddy had done something wrong.

“Good point,” he admitted. He bent and kissed Mummy, then he took his phone and walked out of the room.

“Leave the man alone, Ariel,” Grandpa V. H. said. “There’s no reason to deepen the wound.”

“You would think he’d be more worried about his son, or, at the very least, be actually trying to find Jack,” Grandma Ariel snapped back.

“Mum!”

They all looked at Mummy then.

“Give him some credit, Mother! He’s been busy trying to find out what happened to Jack—and to Ellie and Clara Woodcomb, too—on top of trying to manage a vital operation for his government. He does not deserve your scorn, especially since he stayed with me and Victoria because I needed him. He could have just left me here while he chased any lead he could get!”

It had been a long time since she’d seen Mummy that mad. Mummy practically vibrated with it.

“For years, I’ve put up with the awful things you say about my husband,” Mummy continued, “but I’m finished putting up with it. If you can’t say anything that is at best neutral about John, simply don’t speak of him at all, and if you can’t do that, then leave our house.”

Grandpa V. H. bit his lip, looked away, and Victoria had the impression he’d like to laugh. He thought a lot of things were funny no one else did. Then, she thought he might be proud of Mummy for standing up to Grandma Ariel. Mummy tended to let her own mum push her around sometimes, and Victoria had always wondered if she was afraid of Grandma Ariel.

Mummy’s outburst shut Grandma Ariel up, but Mummy was still very angry. Victoria could tell from both the rigidness of her body and her expression. After a few moments, she stood and followed Daddy.

Her grandpa caught Victoria’s arm when she started to follow them. “Your mum and dad need a few minutes alone,” he told her. Then he smiled. “Why don’t you tell your grandmother how well your dad trained you to be a spy?”

Blinking at him, Victoria stared. That was supposed to be a secret, but there was Grandpa telling everyone. She closed her mouth. Well, not everyone, she supposed since it was no secret to Aunt Emma and Grandma Ariel that Mummy, Daddy, and Grandpa V. H. were spies.

“ _V. H.!_ ”

She could hear how appalled her grandmother sounded. Victoria turned her attention to her grandmother and because she was mad about the mean things Grandma Ariel had said about Daddy, too, she told her, “Actually, Mummy taught me a lot of it.”

For a second, she thought she had just got Mummy in trouble, but then Grandma Ariel’s expression turned skeptical. “Your mother doesn’t want you to be a spy, so she would never do any such thing.”

Lifting her chin, Victoria began reciting the lessons her mother had given her—from how to conceal herself, to listening covertly, to self-defense, to how to tap into someone’s phone or computer—and then she explained the other skills Mummy had taught her, like how to hotwire Daddy’s car and how to pick locks (Mummy was better at it than Daddy, so he had left her to teach that to Victoria, though Daddy had taught her to crack safes).

The best part about that recitation for Victoria was watching her grandmother’s appalled look spread and deepen.

Then Victoria felt guilty. She and Grandpa V. H. might have just gotten Mummy in trouble with her own mum. She hoped her grandfather wasn’t going to suggest she tell her grandmother what else Daddy had taught her. She already had a feeling Grandma Ariel was going to give Mummy a Talking To, and she’d rather she didn’t give Daddy one, too, since theirs tended to be really ugly, so she said, “Mummy says I need to know how to do some things so I stay safe.” All of a sudden, Victoria wanted to cry because she remembered again that no one had taught Jack anything—spy stuff or other stuff. She firmed her quivering lip and told her grandmother, “We should have taught Jack. Then he wouldn’t have been stolen like Mummy was when she was a little girl.”

That certainly hit a bullseye—assuming Victoria had meant her grandmother to be a target, which she kind of had. She’d never seen Grandma Ariel look quite like that. It was a little like someone had hit her really hard but had also unforgivably insulted her. Victoria refused to feel sorry for her, though, and she wasn’t going to apologize for something that was true. It was time her grandma quit being mean to her parents, after all.

“Your granddaughter,” Grandpa V. H. softly said, “managed to get the first real clue for the FBI to follow up on. In the morning, they’re going to interview two of Victoria’s friends who saw the vehicle the kidnappers used to take them away. If her parents hadn’t taught her a thing or two about how to investigate and interrogate, the feds would still be trying to figure out where to look.”

This time, her grandmother looked worried. “What did you do?”

That sounded a little like an accusation, but Victoria chose not to react to it that way. After all, Grandpa V. H. had sounded proud of her, and both Daddy and Mummy had been pleased with her. “I remembered a couple of friends who lived near the store who might have seen something, so I asked them.”

“You went out alone?” her grandmother demanded. This time Victoria was sure she was upset because she was afraid something could have happened to Victoria.

She wanted to tell her grandma that she wasn’t a dumb kid. Instead, she said, “No, I talked to them on FaceTime.”

Grandma Ariel sat back, then she sort of chuckled, and Victoria realized how tense she’d been as she waited for her grandmother to be mean to her, even though Grandma Ariel never had been before. “None of them would have ever thought to ask children what they might have seen.”

Victoria decided that was a compliment. It was true, though, that most grownups didn’t think kids knew anything. The FBI people had only wanted to talk to her about the man, after all, but she’d seen more than that.

Mummy and Daddy came back, then, and Mummy looked at Victoria and said, “Bedtime—again.”

“How’s Jane?” her grandmother asked.

Daddy’s terse, “Upset,” made Grandma Ariel nod.

It was Aunt Emma who asked, “I assume she and your sister aren’t coming then?”

“No,” Daddy grumbled, “they’re still coming.”

That made Victoria happy because she liked her grandma Jane and aunt Julie and aunt Dena. Grandma Jane also made her other grandmother behave nicer towards Daddy.

Daddy curled a thumb into his belt and lifted his other hand to rub the back of his neck. He looked at Victoria a second, and then he looked at her grandfather. “I wondered if you’d be willing to pick them up at the airport.”

“I can do that,” Grandpa V. H. said. “Did you make arrangements for Alex yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to call Walker,” Daddy said. “I’ll do that when we get Victoria back to bed.” He sighed. “We might as well get all of you sorted out first.”

“I can figure out where to stash Mom and V. H.,” Aunt Emma told him. “You go on up, see if you can distract Mariah with some . . . exercise or something.”

It was kind of late for exercise, so Victoria thought her aunt probably meant Daddy would have to make Mummy tired enough she’d sleep. Like her, Mummy often had trouble sleeping, she knew.

After her parents tucked her in again, she lay in her bed, listened to them go down the hall and close their bedroom door. She heard footsteps upstairs, so she figured the rest of her family was in their rooms for the night.

She wondered where the FBI lady was.

Then she thought about her missing brother.

Jack wasn’t in his room. Like Victoria, he sometimes didn’t stay there. Victoria usually went and watched TV until she could sleep, but Jack often went and crawled in bed with Mummy and Daddy when he couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t remember when she was two, but she supposed she might have done the same thing when she was that little. She wondered if Jack was having trouble sleeping that night. It was hard to sleep in a strange place, she knew, so she figured he was. Not only that, but he didn’t have Woobie with him, and her brother usually refused to go to sleep without him. Once he’d left Woobie at Grandma Jane’s, and Daddy had had to go meet Aunt Julie halfway so Jack would stop screaming and crying.

Remembering how annoying Jack’s tantrum had been, Victoria smiled at the ceiling and hoped he was having one for whoever took him. Her little brother could be really loud, and she thought it would serve those bad guys right if he gave them a really bad headache screaming for his Woobie.

Then she thought about how some grownups reacted when little kids wouldn’t quit screaming and crying. Her parents would never do anything bad to them, but she knew other grownups lost patience, hit kids, and sometimes killed them.

She really didn’t want anyone to kill Jack.

He could be annoying, it was true, but she didn’t want him to die.

She started to understand how Mummy felt when she couldn’t breathe as she lay there and worried about Jack. She tried to figure out how to help Daddy find him. Her mum and dad had said they didn’t want her to be involved further, but she didn’t think they’d be too upset if she found her brother. She simply had to think it through, find a way to find Jack so he could come home.

 

\----------X----------

 

“I think you’re the one who needs to explain,” Casey growled, coming to his feet so he could intercept the other man before he drew the attention of the women in the kitchen.

“FISA warrant,” Alan Dietrich growled right back. “What in hell possessed that girl?”

“My _seven-year-old daughter_ got the only real lead you have—unless there’s something you haven’t shared yet,” he reminded his friend as he stalked to the front door. He was mad as hell that they were tapping into their computers after all. He’d take that up with his boss as soon as he could.

Casey looked out the front door’s high panes, hung up as Dietrich rapidly crossed the porch, and let the man in. Dietrich took one look at him and bit out, “Chicago PD gets their asses kicked next.” He waited until they were in Casey’s office to add in an only slightly less angry voice, “The SUV was leased to a local business.”

That didn’t surprise him, so Casey waited for the punchline.

“The company was tied to our operation this afternoon—one of Bridges’ subsidiaries,” Dietrich continued. “We picked it up on the cameras at the intersection of Orchard and Diversey. They headed east back to Clark and then south. I’ve got a team running it to ground.”

Casey would have preferred knowing where they had ended up, but he’d take what he could get. It irritated the hell out of him that their route would have taken them right back past the market where his son had been kidnapped, likely about the time Riah and Victoria had begun searching for them.

Dietrich’s face tightened. “Would you care to explain to me why your daughter thinks she can meddle in our investigation?”

“Only if you can explain how the cops missed two of Victoria’s friends who actually saw something during their canvas.”

“Gentlemen,” V. H. sliced in, and from his inflection, it was more than clear he meant the term loosely. “Does it really matter why my granddaughter chose to investigate when she turned up something solid to pursue?”

If it wouldn’t stroke V. H.’s ego, Casey would have agreed with the man—had already as much as told the FBI agent the same. Instead, he stared Dietrich down. The other man apparently decided it wasn’t worth taking Casey 0n over it because he was the first to blink. “Tell your kid to butt out,” he grumbled at Casey.

After squelching the urge to tell him to fuck himself, Casey decided to suggest he tell her himself—because Casey thought it might be entertaining to watch his daughter charm and dance her way around Dietrich. It was, after all, difficult to stay angry with his daughter when she went to work trying to soften you up. He conceded it was equally possible she would simply exhibit what his wife sometimes called typical behavior for him: an obstinate silence reinforced by a hard glare. He bit back the urge to encourage Dietrich to take it up with Victoria himself, amped up the glare a moment. “Already done,” he admitted.

Mollified, Dietrich relaxed a bit. He reached inside his coat and drew out a thin, black wallet. “Your boss talked to my boss. Since you were spotted at the scene and because we don’t work under the kinds of privacy rules your people do, your boss and mine decided this was probably the best way to keep you out of trouble and deflect any press attention.” He tossed it on the desk in front of Casey. “Welcome to the FBI. Don’t abuse it.”

Reaching out, Casey flipped it open. Aside from the FBI badge, it held an identification card complete with his NSA ID photo proclaiming him Special Agent Virgil H. Atwater. He glared at Dietrich, who stared unapologetically back at him. He considered all the ways to make plain his disgust at having to pretend to be FBI.

“Why didn’t you just put my wife’s maiden name on it while you were at it?” he finally growled. It was bad enough they’d given him V. H.’s first name and middle initial.

Dietrich’s smile was more than a little on the mean side. “Your father-in-law is a little too well known in the crowd we’re after.”

V. H. crossed to take the credentials, laughed when he read it, and then handed it back. Casey’s father-in-law looked at Dietrich. “You realize that by making him an FBI agent—even a pretend one—you’ve just given him a license to take over your investigation, right?”

“Not the way it works,” Dietrich said with a disgustingly happy tone. “Read it again. We gave him one of the lower ranks, though I argued we should make him a probationary agent. Still, he has to do what I say, since I’m the Special Agent in Charge on this operation.” Casey narrowed his eyes, knew probationary was the lowest rank and special agent just above that. As SAC, Dietrich was the highest ranking officer on this assignment. “That means you ride shotgun, you’re secondary in any interrogations, and if I say butt out, you butt out.” He turned to V. H., added, “His boss promised mine that if he doesn’t toe the line, follow orders, we can revoke it and burn him.”

The amusement left Dietrich’s face as he met Casey’s eyes. “Your daughter can’t play junior agent, Casey, and I’m dead serious about that. If anything goes wrong because she interferes, there’s going to be hell to pay—and not just by you.”

Since the FBI credentials gave him some leeway he wouldn’t have had as an NSA operative, Casey was willing to play the game by Dietrich’s rules, especially since his first order of business as Special Agent Atwater was going to be to talk to Victoria’s friends and see what else could be learned from them. That would have to wait until morning, but there were still things he could do that evening. For some of them, he was going to need Walker and Bartowski. He needed V. H. and Dietrich both distracted, though, and he certainly wasn’t going to use the phone now that he knew the FBI most likely wasn’t following agency courtesy and was quite likely listening in on everything in his house. He’d get Riah settled and slip out later.

“Agreed,” he said and shot V. H. a look. “Though God knows how far astray he’ll probably lead her, Adderly can just babysit his granddaughter.”

His father-in-law grinned even more broadly, and Casey momentarily reconsidered. Maybe he should draw up a list of approved activities in addition to approved conversation topics.

It served the purpose. Dietrich turned his attention to V. H. “Since her parents didn’t have any luck, see if you can keep that girl under control.”

Casey gave the man a furious glare. Victoria may have disobeyed instructions, but she hadn’t disobeyed a direct order, and he had to admit he’d been careful not to phrase it as such. He wasn’t sure he’d really expected her to successfully chase down usable intel, but he’d known she would snoop, had figured if it kept her occupied and she took no risks, it would probably be a good thing.

“We finished?” he growled.

Dietrich sighed, looked tired, and said, “Yeah—for now. I’ve got an appointment to yell at the district commander and the police superintendent.”

He and V. H. followed the other man back to the door. Casey was weary as he closed and locked it behind Dietrich.

“Back to plot, or go check on our daughters?” V. H. asked.

Casey didn’t need to think about it. When he walked into the kitchen, he heard Riah say, “I should let John tell her if he hasn’t already.”

It only took a second to size up the situation. Ariel looked angry, but Riah looked even more so. Victoria looked furious as well, so he wondered what his latest transgression was supposed to be. “If I haven’t what already?”

“Told your family someone took your son,” Ariel snapped.

He’d given thought to telling his mother earlier, but he’d never managed to get around to it. He blinked, shot a look at Riah. Casey supposed he was so used to protecting his mother and the rest of his family from the uglier parts of his job that it simply hadn’t occurred to him he should let her know what had happened while it was still unfolding. He had a habit of notifying his mother—if he did at all—after the fact. The women in his kitchen looked incredulous, Riah excepted, since she simply looked guilty.

“I told Alex,” he said silkily, “but I hoped we would know more before I called Mom and got her excited.”

Ariel shot right back, “Have you considered someone else might have already told her?”

Curbing the urge to retaliate by pointing out Riah mostly learned what was going on in Ariel’s life from newspaper and magazine articles, he instead breathed in and decided it would be best if his mother didn’t find out about Jack from a newspaper. “Good point,” he admitted. Riah looked apologetic when he bent and kissed her quickly, but he didn’t think she needed to be so. She gave him a soft, sad smile, and then he took his phone and walked out of the room.

It was late, and that would worry his mother when she realized he was the one calling. He regretted that, but, truthfully, she would have worried whether or not he’d called as soon as he knew what had happened. He listened to the phone ring, and when his mother picked up and sleepily asked, “Johnny?” he felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

“Mom,” he said, mostly to buy a few minutes to organize his thoughts and squash the girlish flood of emotion.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sounding considerably more alert.

The words wouldn’t come. He wanted to simply blurt it out, but he didn’t want to panic her or upset her. He didn’t think he could stand to do polite, meaningless conversation, either.

A hand slid into his free one, and he looked down to see Riah beside him. He tightened his fingers over hers and drew a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to find out some other way,” he began, watched as his wife gave him silent encouragement, “but this afternoon someone took Jack.”

Aside from a sharp gasping sound, only silence came through the phone. He worried for a second he’d given his mother a heart attack—and then he remembered who Jane Casey was, that she wasn’t the fainting flower kind of woman, and it would take more than what he’d just told her to make her keel over dead.

“What do you mean ‘took,’ Johnny?” his mother demanded.

Strangely, that made Casey relax. He was, after all, used to bossy women insisting he explain himself—or, in this case, others. “Riah and the kids went out with Ellie Woodcomb and her daughter this afternoon. While they were in a grocery store, someone kidnapped them."

“I thought you said only Jack was taken,” his mother said sharply.

If Casey had had a hand free, he would have squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack and the two Woodcombs,” he clarified. “Riah and Victoria are safe.” He went on and explained that they had separated in the store and what had happened, but he didn’t detail much more than that. The fewer people who knew about Quinnell, the better.

There was a lengthy silence when he finished. Casey was about to tell her that she and his sister and her partner should cancel their flight in a couple of days and stay put until it was all over, but she said, “I’ll get the first flight I can.”

“Mom,” he sighed, tried to find the argument that would keep her away.

“Johnny, I’ll simply pester you with calls for more information, so I might as well be there where you won’t forget to tell me when things happen.”

And that was his mother—velvet sledgehammer when it came to noting his transgressions. “I should have called sooner,” he admitted, and Riah’s hand tightened briefly around his own, “but it would be better if you and Julie and Dena stayed away for now. We’ve got Riah’s family here, and the FBI are underfoot—will be until we have Jack back.”

“Then Mariah could use some help,” she said briskly. “How’s Victoria?”

He smiled, knew he was going to lose this one, and, he realized, glad someone who really would help Riah would be with her. “She’s fine,” he said, but he decided not to worry her—or earn a lecture about what he allowed his daughter to do—so he didn’t tell her that thanks to Victoria, they had something to pursue. “If you’re coming,” he began, only to have her cut him off.

“Paul Patterson is in town, and we had dinner this evening.” That news wouldn’t normally have surprised him, but there was a note in her voice that raised some surprisingly vague suspicions. “Since he told me he was invited to Christmas with your family, I’ll ask him to come with me—so you won’t worry, of course.”

Given his mother was anything but helpless, he was unlikely to have worried about her, but then he considered that they still didn’t know why Ellie, Clara, and Jack had been abducted. That made his mother’s safety a concern, so he said, “Fine.”

His mother actually chuckled. “I’ll let you—or Mariah—know when I have an arrival time.” After a pause, she asked, “Are you alright, Johnny?”

Suddenly very, very weary, he told her, “I’m alright, Mom.”

“I’ll be there soon,” she promised, and hung up.

Riah pivoted, and put her arms around him, held him tightly. “ _Are_ you alright?” she asked, and her eyes searched his face.

Until that moment, he thought he had been. His body sagged, and he tightened his arms around her. “I don’t know.”

A sad little smile lifted the corners of her mouth. He leaned down and kissed her before asking, “Can we send your mother to Ben’s house?”

Her smile was a little more normal. “He’s out of town, but I’d be more than willing to pay for a hotel room for her.”

He bent and gave her a long kiss. “No promises,” he said when he straightened, “but if I accidentally kill her—“

“I’ll dispose of the body,” she assured him with a soft smile.

That smile dribbled off her face, and he held her tighter. “That won’t happen,” he said. “We’ll find them, and we’ll find them alive.”

They both knew he might be unable to keep that promise, but Riah didn’t correct him, for which he was thankful. “Let’s get our daughter back to bed.”

As they walked into the kitchen, Riah told Victoria, “Bedtime—again.”

“How’s Jane?” Ariel asked.

“Upset,” he told her tersely. Anyone who had listened in might not have thought so, but Casey had heard it nonetheless. Ariel nodded.

Emma asked, “I assume she and your sister aren’t coming then?”

“No,” he grumbled, “they’re still coming.” Casey knew his sister well enough to know that she’d be rearranging her own flight, so he hoped Dena came with her if for no other reason than his sister’s partner actually kept her in check.

It wasn’t hard to see that Victoria was glad they were coming, and Casey figured his daughter would be easier to manage if she had family to distract her. Unfortunately, Casey was going to have to juggle several arrivals and the investigation, so he considered how to manage it without any undue risk to anyone. He curled a thumb into his belt and lifted his other hand to rub the back of his neck and decided V. H. was his best bet on this. “I wondered if you’d be willing to pick them up at the airport.”

“I can do that,” his father-in-law agreed. “Did you make arrangements for Alex yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to call Walker,” he admitted. “I’ll do that when we get Victoria back to bed.” He sighed. “We might as well get all of you sorted out first.”

“I can figure out where to stash Mom and V. H.,” Emma said. “You go on up, see if you can distract Mariah with some . . . exercise or something.”

It was good to know some things didn’t change, he supposed, though normally his in-law’s fascination with his and Riah’s sex life annoyed him. Rather than tell her he didn’t think either he or her sister would be in the mood, he said nothing other than a general goodnight before he and Riah ushered their daughter upstairs.

Once they settled Victoria in her bed again, he took his wife to their room. Riah wilted after he closed their bedroom door, but she didn’t dissolve into tears. Casey half wished she would so he had an excuse to hold her. Then he decided he didn’t need an excuse. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“He doesn’t have Woobie,” she choked.

Casey couldn’t help the small grin, though what she said wasn’t remotely funny. His son had a stuffed husky he insisted on calling a wolf, which was how the thing’s name came about—Jack’s inability to clearly enunciate “Wolfie.” Riah’s upset came from the fact that their son refused to sleep without his Woobie. Part of Casey enjoyed the idea of his son inflicting a full-fledged want-my-Woobie tantrum on his abductors. He sobered when he realized that if Jack had not been their target, they would be more likely to kill him than try to calm him.

“I keep trying to think of who would take him and why,” she said, her arms settling around his waist. She lifted her head from his chest and met his eyes. Her expression slid to embarrassment. “Ellie and Clara, too, of course.”

His wife had never been stupid, so he knew she had to have at least suspected what he had, though he conceded his certainty that the Intersect was at the bottom of it grew stronger as each hour slipped away without any demands made by the kidnappers. If it had been anything else, he was certain they would have heard from whomever had taken Jack and the Woodcomb women. Win Bridges might be connected to this, but since Quinnell apparently had a connection to Bridges and had an interest in the Intersect, it made it more likely he was right. It was possible Riah might not have made that intuitive leap yet. Then he realized no one had filled all the blanks in for her yet.

Perhaps, he thought, he ought to call Walker after all and see if there had been a demand made of Woodcomb. Then again, Walker would have called—or Dietrich—if a ransom demand or any other had been made.

Instead, he drew Riah to the bed, pulled her down with him, and held her.

Riah put her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart. “We’ll have to figure it out, John,” she sighed. “I like Alan Dietrich, but I don’t really trust the FBI.”

He shared those exact sentiments. “The only thing we have to go on at the moment is that they left in a black SUV, Riah.”

“I know.” She burrowed a little closer, “but I don’t think I can stand to simply wait.”

After he pressed a kiss against the top of her head, he decided to tell her what she didn’t know. “Warren Quinnell.”

A shudder ran through her.

“I saw him on the store’s security video,” he admitted. “He was one of the men who took them—the one who took Jack.”

“Then it’s the damned Intersect again, isn’t it.”

Casey sighed. “Most likely.”

His wife proved again just how quick she was: “They must think Jack’s a better bet.”

He frowned.

“Chuck’s been the only genuinely successful, long-term Intersect,” she reminded him. “Manoosh managed, though he never tried it for extended periods. I failed. Perhaps they think males have a better chance of succeeding.”

Logic was on her side, but he protested anyway. “Why take Ellie and Clara, then?”

Her face turned thoughtful. “Because they saw them.”

“Plausible,” he conceded, “but maybe they’re hedging their bets. If there is something to the genetics argument, Ellie and Clara are Bartowskis, which makes them good candidates to test the theory.”

Riah nodded. “Right now, though, I think the more important question is where Quinnell took them.” She sighed. “I doubt he’d use an alias he’s used before, and I’m certain he wouldn’t use his own name. I guess we need to know if he has associates in Chicago, and who they are.”

Casey hated to say it. “That assumes they’re still in Chicago.”

His wife looked stricken for a moment. “They had to know they wouldn’t have much time, that we’d be checking airports, trains, and any other way they could leave.”

“Hide in plain sight,” he mused. He cocked his head, met her tormented gaze. “Riah, they’re going to have a hell of a time getting them out of the city by any ordinary means. That works in our favor.”

He left unsaid that there were any number of extraordinary means, knew she could probably name several herself. He also didn’t say anything about the fact that they could have been well on their way out of the city before Dietrich got to the scene. He kissed her, and then he told her the rest, explained that the SUV Victoria had chased down the lead on was registered to a rental company and leased to one of Win Bridges’s companies. He reminded her that Bridges was the arms dealer they were there to bust.

Riah looked absolutely shattered by that bit of news. “Then it might be something else entirely.”

He nodded. “Except for Quinnell’s involvement, which I’m certain is not just a weird coincidence.”

His wife studied him. Casey kissed her again, wished like hell they had the answer and their son.

“Mummy?”

Releasing Riah’s mouth, Casey turned his head to see their daughter at the foot of the bed. Her stealth skills were improving if she had managed to get their door open and enter without either of them noticing. Of course, Casey was going to have to be more vigilant in future to avoid a repeat of a particular incident from when she was four.

Riah lifted her arm from Casey’s waist and held it out to Victoria, who needed no further invitation. She quickly crawled up the bed on her knees, and Casey reluctantly moved a little so that she could continue her way up the mattress between him and her mother. She had something cradled in her arms, and as she flopped down between them, Casey realized Victoria had Woobie.

She must have made a detour to Jack’s room on her way to theirs.

Riah’s eyes met his as Victoria made herself comfortable.

“I couldn’t sleep,” his daughter announced. Casey dropped his eyes to Victoria. Her face wore concern and a hint of fear, an expression he wasn’t used to seeing on her. “I don’t think Jack can, either.” That was said with a slight wobble in her voice as she clutched Woobie to her chest.

His wife was barely able to hide her own pain before Victoria looked up at her. “I don’t suppose he can,” Riah said carefully, and Casey knew that was to keep her voice from wobbling as their daughter’s had. “I think he’d be glad you’re taking care of Woobie for him.”

Jack would probably jerk the beloved toy out of his sister’s arms if he saw her with it, but Casey wasn’t about to point that out.

“I think Woobie’s scared without Jack here,” Victoria told her mother.

Casey knew that was a classic bit of projection, and it was pretty telling. His daughter often came across as fearless, something that terrified him even when it impressed him, but she was still a little girl, something he often forgot. That was one of the reasons he squashed the sarcasm with which he often reacted to situations that frustrated him, didn’t remark that he was sure that was why Jack insisted on sleeping with the ratty thing, because his wife would only firmly point out that that was _not helping_. “Then it’s a good thing you’re taking care of him,” he told his daughter instead.

Victoria nodded. “Do you think the bad guys are hiding them somewhere nearby?”

He studied her earnest, little face. Her eyes said she wanted him to reassure her, wanted him to tell her the good guys were searching for them, that Jack would soon be home to take care of Woobie himself, and for the first time Casey understood why so many family members spouted insanely optimistic platitudes that their loved one would be returned to them alive if not completely well in the face of any and all evidence to the contrary—or, in this case, no evidence.

Casey couldn’t lie to his daughter, despite the sudden desire to do so: “I don’t know.”

“There are a lot of people looking for him, Clara and Ellie, too,” Riah added firmly. “Someone will find them.”

That was undeniably true. Unfortunately, Casey also knew it was possible they wouldn’t be alive when they were, but he kept that to himself. His daughter was clearly feeling guilt that wasn’t rightly hers, so he wasn’t going to add to that. Nor was he going to make his wife hurt more than she already was, worry more than she already did.

“Now,” Riah said, “let’s see if we can get Woobie to go to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the editing process, it became clear that including Victoria's point of view would make this far too long, so this chapter is all Casey's.

 

 

Victoria fought the good fight, but, eventually, she couldn’t stay awake any longer. Casey watched her go out, and then he lifted his eyes to Riah’s. He regretted having let their daughter crawl between them, wondered if he could move her without waking her so he could hold his wife, but he resigned himself to simply reaching across his sleeping child to put a hand on Riah’s hip.

She raised her brows and asked, “So . . . you’re now in the FBI?”

Casey gave her a disgusted grimace. “It means I don’t have to go around as Jack’s dad interrogating children.”

A confused frown met that gripe. “I thought that was the point?”

He nodded. “They gave me an alias.” He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t make him tell her what it was. “It’s still the FBI, but I suppose better an FBI special agent than an NSA one.”

Riah’s hand cradled his cheek. “Tori Bates is the sort of female you have no patience for.”

“She’s a kid.” Generally, he got along fine with children, but he didn’t usually have to get information out of them, so he suspected his usual tactics would have to be modified.

A funny little smile twisted her lips. “She’s gossipy and girly.”

Maybe he could let Dietrich do that one, he thought, but then he remembered that according to Victoria, she was the one who had seen Quinnell and his men load Jack and the Woodcombs into the SUV. “Who says I don’t like gossipy and girly?”

His wife’s smile broadened at his gruff, defensive tone. “Girly, yes, but the gossipy part—if it isn’t shop talk—always makes you twitchy.”

“I work with Bartowski,” he reminded her.

“Shop talk.”

“Grimes,” he ground out.

“I’ll give you that one, but since he’s your son-in-law, you sort of have to tolerate him,” she pointed out. Her face sobered. Riah drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Who is General Beckman sending to handle the press?”

That was one thing he hadn’t yet followed up on, he realized. “I don’t know. Why?”

“My mother has always used members of Louise Parsons’s agency,” she said. He’d heard the name, knew she ran some big-time entertainment PR agency. “Whoever we use, we’ll need Louise’s cooperation.”

“Why?” They’d just tell the press Ariel had changed press agents.

Riah made another face. “Woman scorned. If Louise thinks she’s been replaced without notice and a mutually satisfactory severance agreement, she’ll spill everything Mum has paid her a lot of money over the years to make sure no one ever finds out—quite likely including exactly who her son-in-law is.”

“I’ll call Beckman,” he promised tightly. He figured that if there were going to be any dealings with the media, it wouldn’t happen quickly. Whoever it was would have to be briefed before they went before the vultures, so he decided it could wait until morning.

“I told Mum to talk to Louise, but Mum says she needs to know who Beckman assigned first.” She ran her thumb over his cheekbone. “Since there were two Woodcombs taken, let’s let Awesome do the hysterical family media interview.”

“They’ll expect someone in our family to speak,” he reminded her.

“You can’t, and I won’t. I thought Mum could do it,” she said. “Let her tell them I’m too distraught. Besides, they’ll be so starstruck with Mum they’ll play nicer than they will with a former spy who allowed her child to be kidnapped.”

There was a very bitter note in the last, and Casey wished he could pull her tight and kiss her. “That isn’t your fault,” he said again.

“How can it not be if Warren Quinnell is involved?” She removed her hand from his cheek. “Galina Vian makes it more likely, too.”

Casey shifted uncomfortably. “V. H. says she’s in an English prison.”

“Then who—“

“Don’t know,” he admitted.

“Grandpa V. H. thinks it might be that mean Ilsa,” Victoria said sleepily and rolled to her side, clutched Jack’s Woobie a little tighter. “I told him I’d have to see her again.” Her voice trailed off as she went back to sleep.

“Again?” Riah asked, and there was an angry demand in her voice.

“That case with the Indonesian terrorist? The one I turned down?” She gave him a curt nod. “Ilsa was the reason. You were sick, I had the kids at the zoo, and she turned up to lobby me to change my mind.” He remembered something else from that day and was about to ask why the zoo’s staff had looked at Victoria like she was a master criminal in danger of going on a rampage, but he decided that was a conversation for another time, especially since his wife tended to go ballistic when Ilsa was involved.

His response apparently mollified her, though, or she worried that their daughter wasn’t really asleep, because she changed the subject. “So who was the man?” she asked softly.

Casey had been turning that one over in his head. While he really didn’t want to share without evidence, if it really was Ilsa, he thought it was Antoine du Montfort. The young man started working with her a few years back, but Casey had no idea why they might have been following his wife and children around or why they hadn’t stopped Jack and the Woodcomb’s abduction. He also had no idea why they had vanished afterward or why Ilsa hadn’t at least contacted him.

Riah clearly expected an answer, so he told her who he thought it was. She looked thoughtful in the darkened room. “I’ve met Antoine,” she said softly. “Victoria’s description mostly fits.”

Casey wondered how she knew the other man, but he decided not to ask—yet. He also decided not to ask about the _mostly_. “I think,” he said, and his hand stroked her hip, “that while I’m grilling our daughter’s friends in the morning, perhaps you and your dad could chase down who Quinnell’s partners are.”

“Most likely they’re CSIS—or former CSIS,” she mused. “He really never seemed to have many contacts outside the agency.”

Lee Nevins had been CSIS, but Casey wasn’t sure. People who did what they did generally worked with other agencies, knew people in them, and often formed friendships with them. Of course, Quinnell appeared to be working with a CIA officer, so maybe he was friendly with more scum in more agencies than any of them realized.

“I suppose there might be someone inside ISI,” she granted, “but I don’t know who, and Dad will likely have to look into that since I’m no longer an active operative.”

Casey noticed how she phrased that. He nearly called her on it. Officially, she had resigned a second time, but he suspected either she really hadn’t or her dad had simply put her on the agency’s inactive list.

“Tell me about Quinnell’s connection to Bridges,” she suggested softly.

He told her what he knew, which really wasn’t much and had come mostly from V. H. When he finished, the silence stretched.

“Do you think someone in the ATF might know more?”

Casey considered. Since Bridges was an arms dealer and because of his connection to the hillbillies who used his weapons for their crimes, the ATF should have been the go-to agency; it had become Team Bartowski’s, as the kid still referred to them, because of the terrorist component. He suspected the other agency had someone working the case, so it would simply be a matter of finding out who. That probably meant talking to Carina, the DEA’s agent on the ground, who would likely know who it was and which came with risks, both personal and to the operation. “I’ll find someone,” he promised.

After a while, he realized she was still awake, and he remembered there was something he hadn’t told her yet. “Alex and Grimes are coming tomorrow as planned.”

“Is that wise?”

He gave her a grim smile. “Probably not, but we think Grimes might be the leak, so we thought it might be best to get him where we can sit on him, maybe gag him.” Casey realized he had nearly revealed something he hadn’t told his wife at all—something that might seriously piss her off.

“Leak for what?” she asked stiffly when he didn’t finish.

In the dark, he debated deflecting her or telling her the truth.

It didn’t matter because she moved on, probably because she was well aware that Morgan Grimes couldn’t keep his mouth shut except to guard Chuck Bartowski’s secrets. It made Casey feel guilty nonetheless.

“I don’t think I’m up to dealing with anyone, not even family, John,” she said. “I don’t think I can pretend not to worry or be upset.”

He eased off the bed and went around to her side, slid onto the edge and wrapped an arm around her. “No one expects you to be the entertainment director,” he assured her. “They’re worried, too.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, and he kissed her. “Get some sleep,” Casey told her softly, realized he’d only had about three hours of sleep himself. He doubted he’d sleep much, but she dealt with sleep deprivation far worse than he did, and she would have plenty on her plate with a house full of family.

Riah moved Victoria further toward what was normally his side of their bed and shifted over to give him more room. He wished she’d turn over, but Victoria whimpered. Her mother soothed her until she relaxed back into sleep.

“Have I told you I love you?” he asked.

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “This week?”

“Funny.” Casey moved his hand over her side and tucked his arm around her so that he could fit his body closer to hers. It was true he didn’t say it often enough.

“I don’t need the words, John,” she said. “I know you love me.”

“Get some sleep,” he told her gruffly.

 

Just before dawn, Casey eased off the bed. Riah rolled to look at him, so he bent and dropped a kiss on her mouth. “I’ve got a few ideas. I’m going to wake your dad and run them by him.”

Riah studied him. He feared she would argue. Instead, to his relief, she simply said, “Don’t hurt him.”

He snorted, kissed her again, and left her with their daughter. The truth was that none of them slept, really. Riah dozed now and then, but Casey remained awake, watched his daughter fall asleep only to jerk awake, usually with a whimper. He was glad there were no screams because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to cope with that level of terror on Victoria’s part. The whimpers were difficult enough, cut, made him feel as though he had failed her, her mother, and Jack.

Casey didn’t like failure, and he saw his actions the previous day as failure. By the time dawn was nearly there, he was mad as hell, mostly at himself, but largely at whomever had done this to his son. Chuck Bartowski had once told him—well, Walker, actually, who relayed it to Casey after the fact—that he didn’t really have a calm center but an angry one instead, and for the first time, he realized he thought better with a cold anger percolating.

He decided his first priority was coffee and his second figuring out where Emma stashed his father-in-law the night before.

In the kitchen, he found V. H. already up and sitting at the table with a laptop, his cellphone, and coffee. Casey found a cup, poured a ration of his own, and sat down opposite his father-in-law.

“Video surveillance on the roads didn’t turn up much of anything,” V. H. announced. “They either switched vehicles between cameras or somehow found a route with no video.”

Casey wasn’t surprised that Quinnell had managed to go off grid, figured he had someone inside whatever organization or contractor Chicago used to monitor the cameras. Someone would have to hunt down whoever that might be. He eyed V. H., thought his father-in-law could take that part of the operation.

With any luck, Tori Bates, got a good look at all four men and could describe and identify them. Unfortunately, finding out would likely call for the kind of negotiation Casey notoriously did not like. It often took too long to charm a witness, so he preferred simply demanding things with enough intimidation people raced to see how quickly they could spill it. He couldn’t do that with a seven-year-old, no matter how much he might think them little terrorists in training—his daughter excepted. He was still surprised Dietrich had agreed to deal him in, but he figured his old friend knew he’d insist—and had likely heard stories about his ability to be very creatively and persuasively insistent when he did so.

“You look like you’re plotting an invasion,” V. H. observed.

“Canada’s ripe for plundering,” he shot back, glad for the distraction his father-in-law conveniently provided. “It’s that long, unprotected border. You’re just asking for trouble.”

Almost as soon as he said it, he froze. That largely unprotected border had contributed to Quinnell’s ability to get to Chicago.

“Your side leaks as well,” V. H. reminded him. For once, the other man didn’t make it personal, but Casey figured that had more to do with the fact the Canadians couldn’t take the blame for the fact that the Americans on the border were ignorant when it came to early twentieth century comedy teams. V. H. shot his brows up, lifted his coffee cup and added a nice little taunt—though Casey would never acknowledge it hit a nerve: “At least we don’t let them cross with enough military weapons to mount an invasion.”

Casey was suddenly on point. “Something I need to know here?”

His father-in-law sipped his coffee and then nodded. “One of my people pulled one of our operative’s report. Quinnell met someone in Thunder Bay and arranged a shipment of military-grade weapons.” V. H. turned his laptop toward Casey with an inventory of weapons stolen from an army weapons depot in Manitoba on the screen.

“Looks like he _is_ planning an invasion,” Casey mused, scrolling through. Not only that, but the weapons had been manufactured by the scumbag his operation from the day before targeted. That probably explained why Quinnell had driven a vehicle tied to Bridges. “Where did he ship them?”

“That’s the interesting part.” V. H. met his eyes. “One of my teams followed it after it was unloaded from a container ship to a warehouse here in Chicago. Not a bullet has budged since the weapons arrived—and Quinnell hasn’t gone near it.”

Maybe Quinnell had changed his mind, decided to lower his carbon footprint, buy local. Casey considered the risks in sending Bartowski back to Win Bridges to see what he could learn. Given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure the kid could hold it together long enough to do the job, especially if he knew Bridges might be connected to the abduction of his sister and niece.

Casey supposed their operation might be Quinnell’s target, but now that Casey had a little caffeine percolating through his brain, he hit on another possibility. “Quinnell knew you’d come to your daughter if something happened to one of our kids.”

“Or you,” V. H. acknowledged. “At least I wouldn’t be the one who had to get on a plane, shoot you, plan and attend your funeral, comfort Mariah and your kids, and pretend to be sorry you’re dead, but I would have had to do all but the shooting you part.”

Casey gave the other man a scorching stare.

V. H. held his good hand up. “You’ve been a good husband to my daughter, and except for your dictatorial decrees about what I discuss with my grandchildren and your notorious lack of tolerance for most humans, you’ve been a good father. I long ago accepted you’re not going to do something that gives me an opportunity to put that scenario into play.” He then lifted a brow and gave Casey a hard stare of his own. “Unless you’ve been up to something I don’t know.”

The night before, Victoria had mentioned V. H. thought the woman she’d seen was Ilsa Trinchina. Casey didn’t believe the French woman would help kidnap his son. Then again, she was ambitious and ruthless, and there had been a time he might have done something similar to make sure he stayed embedded with the bad guy he pursued. He liked to think he’d make sure any innocent victims remained safe.

He wondered if the French had an interest in Bridges and what that interest might be.

His father-in-law hid a grin behind his coffee cup. Casey narrowed his eyes on him and tried to decipher what that amusement was about, because it was obviously directed toward Casey. He amped up the glare as V. H. swallowed and set his cup on the table before him.

Raising his brows, V. H.’s grin broadened. “I hope you have body armor in the house.”

Casey wracked his brain before hitting a possible explanation. If V. H. was right, then he might need that body armor if he had to tell Riah the woman was Ilsa. She’d let it go the night before, but that could have been because Victoria might have heard more than their daughter really should.

If it was Ilsa and if she turned out to have played an active role in the abduction, then Casey _really_ didn’t want to have to be the one to tell his wife. The last time he and Riah had fought about the other woman—the only time they fought about Ilsa—his wife had been angrier than he’d ever seen her, violently angry.

“Any chance you have a picture of Ilsa?”

Casey shook his head. Unlike the ones he had finally given Alex of Kathleen, he hadn’t kept any photographs of Ilsa. He could get one from Beckman, but he had a feeling V. H. had already acquired one. He asked. “You?”

“ISI does,” V. H. confirmed. “I’ve asked someone to send it to me, and then we’ll need to show it to Victoria.”

Casey took a long hit of caffeine. “When she wakes up, have at it.”

“Do you have your mother’s flight information yet?”

Shaking his head, Casey wondered if he should call her and ask. He shot a look at the kitchen clock and decided it was a little too early. “We’ll still need to escort Alex and Grimes.”

“Have you considered distracting Mariah with that assignment?”

There was no way he would allow his wife outside without protection while the men who stole their son—who might be interested in taking her as well—could be waiting for that opportunity. Riah would go alone, at most take Emma, and he wasn’t risking another member of his family. “She’ll be busy getting the house ready for incoming family, and she’ll need to keep Victoria distracted from playing spy.”

His father-in-law looked grimly amused. “If you’re going to pat Mariah on the head and tell her her place is at home with her daughter, I can’t wait for the fireworks.”

When he put it that way, Casey could easily see the flaw in his plan. “Wear your own body armor,” he grunted.

He didn’t doubt his wife would insist on helping with the investigation, so he’d have to convince her Victoria needed her and hope she wouldn’t insist the FBI could protect their daughter.

“If she’s going to shoot someone,” V. H. told him, “it’ll be you—and she rarely misses.” He shifted the phone in front of him. “You never do, so I suspect I’m safe without the body armor.”

Casey decided to drop the subject and drink a bit more coffee.

“How’s my granddaughter’s aim?”

He choked on the mouthful of coffee and eyed V. H suspiciously, wondered how in hell he knew he’d been training his daughter to fire a handgun. Then he realized Victoria must have told her grandfather, though it was possible V. H. had someone spying on them. “I see we need to update the list of approved topics of discussion with my daughter.”

“More like you need a list of approved topics about which Victoria can talk to me.”

“She told you.”

Fortunately, V. H. understood that was a question. “She did—rather enthusiastically.” He snorted. “Do you really give her targets with the faces of your government’s most wanted?”

“I could probably get some with your government’s most wanted,” he retorted. “What are the most serious crimes against the Canadian state? Maple syrup rustling? Hockey puck forgery? Grand theft Zamboni?”

“Funny,” V. H. deadpanned. “When my daughter finds out what you’ve been teaching her daughter, you’re definitely going to need body armor.”

Unfortunately, that was probably true. Riah had repeatedly made her views on training their daughter to fire weapons crystal clear. It wasn’t that she completely objected; it was more that she thought Victoria should be considerably older before he began. Casey had decided that in a household with more weapons than the average arsenal Victoria needed to know a few things, particularly since any of their lives could be in danger. He’d bought her a small Beretta pistol for her birthday and regularly took her to a range where she could learn to use it and hone her abilities.

“I assume you have a plan,” V. H. said.

“First order of business is to find out what the CARD team picked up overnight, and then talk to the two girls Victoria spoke to last night.” He took a swallow of coffee. “I want to know what the CPD learned when they canvassed the neighborhood, and I want to know where Quinnell had his weapons stashed.” He looked at V. H. “I’m also going to find out where his bolt-hole in Chicago is.”

“I have people working on the last one,” V. H. admitted.

Casey’s phone rang before he could ask for an update. Since it was Walker, he answered.

“Coming in the back,” she said and hung up. Casey stood, looked out the kitchen window to see her and Bartowski walking his way. One of Dietrich’s FBI agents stopped them, and Casey watched as they showed ID and were waved through.

“Figured you’d be with Captain Jockstrap,” he said as he held the door.

“Sarah tranqed him,” Bartowski said. There was a shocked, cranky edge to that. Casey surveyed Walker and lifted his brows.

“If he were a woman, you’d call him hysterical,” she told him tightly, “which is still a pretty good word for how he reacted.”

Casey snorted, bit back that Woodcomb, despite the testosterone-fueled extreme sportsman, was more woman than Ellie Bartowski dreamed of being. “You left him alone?”

“There are four FBI agents there,” Walker admitted.

He offered them coffee. As he poured, he could picture the distraught histrionics of Ellie’s Ken Doll and Chuck’s efforts not to freak out so he could talk the man down. It said a lot that Bartowski had let Walker do it and a lot about the level of Woodcomb’s distress. Bartowski’s brother-in-law was basically an adolescent trapped in a man’s body, but he loved Ellie and their daughter.

Casey briefly wondered what it was about Bartowskis that they surrounded themselves with man-boys.

“The press haven’t tied any of us to this yet, but I’m not sure how much longer that will last,” Walker told him as he handed her a mug of coffee.

The truth was Casey didn’t give a shit what the media reported—unless they gave name, rank and serial number for him, Walker, Chuck, or Riah.

As he handed Bartowski a mug of coffee, he remembered part of his conversation with his wife the night before. He was about to explain to Walker about the press agent when a ringtone broke the silence.

V. H. made an exasperated noise, reached for his phone. “Yes?”

Casey met Walker’s eyes. The blonde raised her eyebrows, and they all listened.

“Tell them I have no comment.”

That probably meant the Canadian press had made a connection to V. H.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Casey leaned against the counter next to Walker and Bartowski. “Riah refuses to talk to the press,” he admitted. “She suggests we use her mother, but someone from Ellie’s family will have to speak, too, and that’s going to have to be Woodcomb.”

Bartowski swallowed some coffee. “I’m not sure Devon can pull himself together enough.”

A look at Walker showed she concurred.

“Since Ariel likes the spotlight,” Casey sniped, “we’ll put them together and let her take the lead.” His mother-in-law would get this right, at least, since she would protect herself and her daughter. With any luck, she’d make things easier for Woodcomb. “The two of you prep Woodcomb, give him the limits of what he can and cannot say. That includes Jack’s surname.”

He could tell Bartowski was about to say something imbecilic, so he added, “I’ve got to find out who Beckman’s sending.” He rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his free hand over his tired eyes.

Bartowski wore an expression that straddled a line between he’d just smelled something that stank worse than a skunk and Bryce Larkin was back from the dead yet again.

“About that,” the kid said, and Casey had worked with the kid long enough to know that phrase meant he was really not going to like what Bartowski had to say. In typically Bartowski fashion, the intel was not immediately forthcoming. Just as Casey was about to retrieve the loaded Glock Riah velcroed to the bottom of the counter in the top of the deep drawer where she kept her chef’s knives and point it at him to reinforce the need to spill, the kid finally spit it out: “Alex Forrest.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed, but Bartowski repeated the name and added the kind of inevitable panicked babble he resorted to when a grownup appeared pissed off.

It was a matter of waiting him out, but when the babble didn’t seem like it would soon abate, Casey decided to stop it—without bullets because Riah would be pissed if he actually shot someone in her kitchen when one of the kids was home.

Bartowski screeched to silence on the word, “49b,” when Casey folded his arms and summoned the ugliest, most pissed off glare he could.

Walker tried to salvage the situation by pointing out, “Forrest is by the book, and she’s tightlipped, which is what we need.”

“What we need,” Casey said, still angry, “is someone with charm.”

Bartowski had that look on his face, the one that was a cross between horror and amusement where amusement would win after the momentary shock passed. Casey knew that would be at his expense. The kid had once referred to Forrest as Casey in a skirt—in Casey’s hearing. He admitted he had once been a lot like that woman—by the book, no nonsense, no sympathy, use any means necessary, and, always, maximum firepower. Unless she’d changed since Beckman sent her to be Walker’s 49b years earlier, he didn’t think the humorless woman would survive the media onslaught.

Casey couldn’t say he’d completely left the traits he had shared with Forrest behind, but he had always had the ability to shift personality a bit and take on whatever the needed role required of him. Other than that pole dance at Woodcomb’s bachelor party, he really hadn’t seen that in Forrest. It likely explained why she had remained a mid-level operative, one who got good assignments but not career-changing ones.

On second thought, Walker’s 49b assignment had changed Forrest’s career, just not for the better once Beckman had read Casey’s report and assessment of the other agent.

The worst part was going to be watching Forrest try to manage his wife, and that would make Riah’s encounters with the likes of Carina or Ilsa look like playground taunts if Forrest tried any of the arrogant bullshit she normally displayed. Riah had a very low tolerance for that kind of attitude.

A little smile curved his lips as he thought about Forrest attempting to manage Ariel Taylor. _That_ he would enjoy the hell out of. Two immovable objects, each of whom was certain she was right and no one else was. Given Ariel would try and protect her daughter while Forrest issued orders left and right, the fireworks should be pretty spectacular.

Maybe he should send Riah along to collect Alex and Grimes.

“When’s Forrest coming in?” he asked.

Walker told him, “She’s already in the air.” Her eyes found the kitchen clock. “She should have landed half an hour ago.”

ETA any minute, then. He turned to V. H. “Get Ariel.”

Casey wanted everything in place before he had to leave with Dietrich at nine. That gave them a little over three hours, so he’d have Ariel call her publicist and set things in motion.

After V. H. left the kitchen, Casey turned to Walker and Bartowski. The kid frowned. “Why do we need Mariah’s mom?”

“Because this is going to have to look like her people are in charge, and apparently the woman she uses is a tyrant who’ll burn the lot of us if we don’t manage to convince her to play along. Forrest’s cover will have to be that she works out of Parsons’s office here in Chicago.” Casey looked at the kid.

Casey decided the short version would have to do. “I’m going with Dietrich to interview a couple of Victoria’s friends,” he clipped out. “She talked to them online last night, and both saw the getaway car. One saw the four men who took them. Unfortunately, they connect two important dots: the operation with Bridges and the Intersect.”

Bartowski’s mouth dropped open, and he paled. It was such a situation-normal reaction Casey ignored it.

Walker, though, demanded, “The Intersect? How?”

“Warren Quinnell was one of the men.”

There it was, Bartowski’s flash face. When the eye flutter and open mouth were finished, the kid gasped, “Not good. _So_ not good.”

“Spill,” Casey growled, wondered if there was anything new about Quinnell in the kid’s noggin.

Predictably, because Bartowski always found it easier to tell Sarah the good, the bad, and the ugly in the Intersect, he turned to her. “First, Montreal Project. Second, he worked with Lee Nevins, who shot Mariah in Ottawa years ago, but third, he’s working with Win Bridges to bring nuclear enabled weapons to insurgents in Iraq, Syria, and, inexplicably, Quebec.”

“Not so inexplicable to a Canadian,” Casey said gruffly. Truthfully, that litany convinced him Quinnell was after the Adderlys. He figured working with Bridges got Quinnell close to Riah, and taking Jack got V. H. and Riah in the same place. That made Ellie and Clara Woodcomb collateral damage.

He tried to remember everything he’d ever learned about the Montreal Project, which wasn’t much. He’d never seen the files, but that long ago night on the beach, Riah, who had, had outlined it for him. Bartowski had had a data dump during the mission that took down Gray Laurance, and Casey mulled over what he could recall. He’d need to talk to Riah, and he was going to put pressure on V. H. to disclose anything Casey still didn’t know.

That discussion would have to wait since Ariel sailed in, V. H. in tow. “Gang’s all here, I see,” she said. She crossed her arms and eyed Walker. “I assume you’re the one who’s going to play publicist?”

“An agent named Alex Forrest,” Casey corrected tightly. “She’s on her way. We need you to smooth things over with your people.”

It was easy to see Ariel was calculating the level of insult she intended to offer. Casey’s jaw tightened as he waited. He had to play nicely, but that didn’t mean he had to just stand there and take it, especially with Riah upstairs and out of the crossfire. Ariel, though, apparently decided to back down. “I talked to Louise last night,” she admitted. “I just need a description of Agent Forrest.”

While Casey tried to figure out why she changed her mind, Bartowski said, “Tall and slim, long red hair, no sense of humor, likes guns.”

Ariel’s amusement was obvious, and the look she turned on Casey spoke volumes. He gave her a perp description: height, weight, hair and eye color.

“I’ll call Louise back,” she said and left, presumably to do exactly that.

He gave V. H. a suspicious look. The other man shrugged. “Your wife gave her a tongue-lashing last night about being nicer to you.”

Another debt he owed Riah—if the truce held. He and Ariel had managed before, mainly for Riah’s sake, so he supposed it would. He was determined not to be the one who broke it.

While they waited, he filled Walker and the kid in on the traffic cameras and where they lost the SUV. Then he drew a deep breath and said, “Alex and Grimes are coming in this afternoon, private flight. Someone has to get them here safely.”

“Is that—“ Bartowski started, but Walker cut in and said, “We’ll do it.”

He nodded thanks.

Ariel strolled back into the kitchen and announced, “Done,” just as Walker’s phone rang.

Within moments, Forrest was walking in the back door.

Casey kept his mouth shut while they worked out the details. Ariel provided the woman Parsons’s phone number so Forrest could talk to her directly, and then Forrest turned her attention to Casey.

“Colonel, it would be best if your wife were part of this.”

“Riah says no,” he told her, “and I agree.”

“In normal circumstances, the boy’s parents—“

Casey stopped her with a scowl. “Ours isn’t a normal family, and this isn’t a normal circumstance. Ariel will represent us.”

“And what excuse should I make for the boy’s grandmother speaking for the family?” Forrest demanded.

The repetition of _the boy_ was beginning to seriously irritate him. “I don’t care,” Casey bit out, “as long as no names are used.”

To his surprise, Ariel said, “I believe we can simply say Mariah and her husband are too distraught.”

A part of Casey rebelled at that, but it was plausible. “No names,” he insisted firmly.

“Alright,” Ariel agreed, and corrected that to, “My daughter and her husband are too distraught by the loss of their son.” She looked at him, and he narrowed his eyes, not liking the fact that she had just made it sound like Jack was dead. “I think we’ll have to name him, but since Mariah used my name when the two of you met, I suppose we could say he’s John Taylor.”

As far as Casey knew, there had never been any public announcements of their marriage, but that didn’t mean no one knew who Ariel’s oldest daughter had married. It was the best they could get, so he agreed.

Forrest, though, doggedly objected. Casey found it tiring to retread ground, but he figured if he just let the woman run her mouth, raise her objections, when he finally issued orders, she’d be more likely to fall in line.

Victoria burst into the kitchen, and Forrest stopped in mid-explanation to stare at her. From the woman’s expression as his daughter ran to Casey, who scooped her up, he wondered if Forrest had ever been this close to a child. “Morning, kiddo,” he said.

“Morning, Daddy,” she responded. “Who’s the skinny lady?”

The temptation to tell her, as the old joke went, that Forrest was no lady was fairly strong, but Riah entered the kitchen and said to the agent, “Forgive my daughter. Unfortunately, her manners desert her at the best of times.” Riah crossed to the agent and said, “I’m Mariah Casey. The rude thing clinging to her father is Victoria.”

“Alex Forrest,” the other agent said, and Casey noted she looked at his wife as though she were part of some exotic museum exhibit.

Riah nodded. “I assume General Beckman sent you?”

Forrest gave a curt nod of her own. “I was just explaining to Colonel Casey that you, at least, should be present to talk to the press.”

“No,” Mariah said firmly.

“I understand why the Colonel needs his identity hidden, but there’s no reason you . . . .” Forrest trailed off when almost everyone in the room gave her an incredulous look. Everyone except Riah, who had a tight little smile.

“Dad,” she said.

“V. H. Adderly,” her father said coldly. “Director General of ISI. My daughter is a former ISI operative. Your own agency makes use of her talents from time to time, and that means she needs to remain as anonymous as we can make her.”

“But—“

“No buts,” Casey cut in firmly. “My wife remains out of sight. Her mother will speak for the family.”

“If you’ll come with me,” Ariel said, gesturing at the door and the hall beyond it, “I’ll walk you through what you need to know.”

Casey half expected Forrest to object, but she very wisely shut her mouth and followed Ariel out of the room. He figured the two women were fairly evenly matched, though he filed away that Ariel had rather genteelly railroaded Forrest.

Riah asked Walker and Bartowski about Woodcomb, sympathized when they told her, and then asked if they were staying for breakfast. Casey suggested Walker follow up with Chicago PD, and when he asked what he could do, Casey told Bartowski to try and talk Woodcomb down enough he could function with the press. He told Walker he’d let them know about Alex and Grimes’s arrival, and then watched them leave.

“Do you only know mean redheads?” Victoria asked when it was only family left in the kitchen.

Casey frowned at her, caught an amused sound from his wife, and noticed V. H. buried his face in his coffee cup. “Never thought about it before,” he told his daughter as he set her on her feet.

Riah’s expression had him searching his memory. When he remembered Celia, Casey decided Victoria might have a point.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Something woke Victoria. It took her a minute to realize it was the sound of a shower. That confused her because the bathroom was down the hall from her room, but then she looked around and saw she was in her parents’ room and remembered she’d gone to find them when she got too worried about Jack. She stretched and yawned, and her hand brushed something. She saw Woobie on the side of the bed where Daddy usually slept.

She heard the water stop and wondered if it was Mummy or Daddy in the shower. It was just getting light, so it could be either one. She should probably go find clean clothes, but if it was Mummy, she didn’t want her to be worried when she came out of the bathroom and found Victoria gone.

It had been a weird night, she thought. She’d tried to stay awake, but she kept going to sleep, only to wake up and hear Mummy and Daddy talking softly to one another. She couldn’t remember a lot of what they said to each other, but she remembered a few things, including telling Daddy that Grandpa V. H. thought that mean Ilsa might be the woman she saw who talked to the man who had followed them.

Another thing she remembered was the dreams, bad ones about what might be happening to Jack or about being stolen herself.

Mummy was fully dressed when she came out of the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom. She saw Victoria was awake and asked, “Are you ready to get up, or do you want to sleep a little longer?”

Since Mummy looked like she should sleep longer but obviously wasn’t going to, Victoria said, “Get up.” She figured she should keep an eye on her just in case.

Her mum helped her pick out clean clothes to wear and then unbraided, brushed, and rebraided her hair. As they walked past Jack’s room, Victoria said, “Woobie would like to try and sleep a little more.” She put the stuffed dog back on her brother’s bed, and wished Jack had been there instead of wherever he was.

As they went down the stairs, Mummy asked what she would like for breakfast. Victoria wasn’t especially hungry yet. She preferred to wait a while before she ate. So did Mummy. She told her mum she didn’t know.

In the kitchen, Daddy, Uncle Chuck, and Aunt Walker looked mad. Grandpa V. H. looked amused, and there was another redheaded lady who looked mad, too. She was going on about how Mummy had to talk to some people about Jack, but Victoria didn’t think that woman got to decide what her mum did. Listening to her, Victoria was pretty sure she was another of those mean redheads Daddy knew. There was something about the way that woman stood, stiff and straight, her arms folded over her stomach and a look on her face that said she thought she was the boss. When Victoria looked up at Mummy to see if she knew who that woman was, Mummy looked puzzled. Victoria decided that meant she didn’t know the redheaded woman.

Victoria made a beeline for Daddy, who set his coffee cup on the counter beside him and scooped her up. She beamed. If one of them got carried, it was usually Jack, mainly because of that not being able to stay on his own feet thing. “Morning, kiddo.”

That shut the mean lady up, at least.

There were several things about being a kid that Victoria knew how to use to make grownups uncomfortable and still stay out of trouble. She had found that wrong-footing a grownup often let her more quickly figure out what was going on, so she looked up at her father and said, “Morning, Daddy. Who’s the skinny lady?”

Aunt Walker looked like she wanted to laugh, but Mummy did what Mummy did best. Her mum was good at putting people at ease and disarming them—though not the kind of disarming that meant taking guns away from them which was the kind of disarming Daddy was good at. Victoria figured Mummy was so good at making people calm down because Grandma Ariel was so good at making people mad that someone had to be able to settle them down.

As Victoria watched, Mummy smiled at the skinny lady and said, “Forgive my daughter. Unfortunately, her manners desert her at the best of times.” Mummy walked over to the lady and said, “I’m Mariah Casey. The rude thing clinging to her father is Victoria.”

“Alex Forrest,” the lady answered. She gave Mummy a look kind of like the zoo people did the last time Victoria got caught breaking into the elephant pen.

Mummy nodded. “I assume General Beckman sent you?”

When that Alex Forrest said, “I was just explaining to Colonel Casey that you, at least, should be present to talk to the press,” Victoria figured she worked with Daddy or at least in the government like Daddy did since those were the only people who called him Colonel Casey. Victoria wondered why Mummy needed to talk to the press, though.

“No,” Mummy said in the voice Victoria knew meant _don’t even consider it_.

That lady apparently didn’t know what that tone meant, though, because she rather firmly said, “I understand why the Colonel needs his identity hidden, but there’s no reason you . . . .” As the woman talked, Victoria felt Daddy tense a bit, and when she stopped, Victoria looked at the other grownups, noticed most of them looked at the skinny lady like she was crazy—and maybe she was, because Victoria had begun to figure out that a lot of the grownups who were spies seemed to at least be weird. Mummy, though, looked like she might be considering how to hurt the skinny spy even though she kind of smiled at her.

Victoria wondered what she should do if Mummy did try and hurt the lady. Fortunately, Mummy just said, “Dad.”

Her grandpa looked a little amused when he introduced himself and then told the skinny woman that Mummy used to be a spy. Victoria frowned, remembered Daddy telling her several times to never tell anyone, regardless of who they were or said they were, who the spies were, but there was Grandpa V. H. telling the skinny lady. If she worked with Daddy, though, Victoria figured she might already know. The part that surprised Victoria even more was when he said that sometimes Mummy worked for the skinny lady’s agency because Mummy was supposed to be retired from spying.

The skinny lady apparently didn’t realize that Grandpa V. H. was telling her to leave Mummy out of it because she protested, but then Daddy cut in and told her in the voice that said not to argue, “No buts. My wife remains out of sight. Her mother will speak for the family.”

Victoria studied her daddy’s face and wondered why he was going to let Grandma Ariel say stuff for them. Usually, her grandma and Daddy fought over everything, so there was no telling what her grandma might tell other people. Victoria figured it would make Daddy look bad, so she thought maybe the skinny lady might be right. She wasn’t going to say anything, though, because Daddy probably knew what he was doing, and Victoria might be just reaching a conclusion based on insufficient evidence—something Daddy sometimes explained to her when she got something wrong.

“If you’ll come with me,” Grandma Ariel told the lady and waved at the door that lead to the hall that would take them to the other rooms in the house, “I’ll walk you through what you need to know.”

Why Victoria thought about the Cyberman conversions from _Dr. Who_ , she wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling her grandma was going to try and make the skinny lady act differently or be someone different (spies often pretended to be someone else, after all, and she’d already figured out that lady was going to pretend to be someone her grandma knew). If anyone could do it, her grandma could because she was really good at getting people to do what she wanted, even if they didn’t want to do it at all. Then she frowned, realized that Daddy, Mummy, and Grandpa V. H. refused to change to make her grandma happy, so it was possible the redheaded lady wouldn’t either.

She nestled closer to Daddy, who might have forgotten he still held her since he didn’t put her down, and listened as the grownups talked, mostly about stuff like how Uncle Devon was doing, and what Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck would need to do while Daddy worked with the FBI.

Victoria perked up a little at the news that her sister and her husband were still coming that day. Her big sister Alex never treated her like a dumb little kid, and Uncle Morgan was kind of fun, even if he did manage to irritate Daddy a lot. Of course, a lot of people irritated Daddy a lot, including Uncle Chuck sometimes.

It wasn’t long before everyone but family left, and then Victoria asked Daddy something she was really beginning to wonder: “Do you only know mean redheads?”

Daddy gave her a surprised look that turned kind of thoughtful, but Mummy made a sound like she was trying to smother a laugh. “Never thought about it before,” Daddy finally said as he set her on her feet.

Mummy fixed breakfast, and Aunt Emma came in to help. The food was just about finished when Grandma Ariel and the skinny lady came back in the kitchen. Mummy asked the skinny lady if she’d like to join them, but the lady shook her head, said she had work to do, and left.

Grandma Ariel got some coffee and sat. She looked at Daddy and said, “She’ll get it right.”

“Or you’ll kill her?” Daddy grunted. Victoria saw a glint in his eye that meant he didn’t really think Grandma Ariel would kill the skinny lady.

“I thought I might have you do it for me,” she said with a grin and a lift of a brow. In that moment, Victoria thought she looked a lot like Mummy did when she teased Daddy.

“No favors for family,” Daddy grumbled, but he looked amused.

After breakfast, Mummy sent Daddy upstairs to get ready while she, Aunt Emma, and Grandma Ariel cleaned the kitchen. Grandpa V. H. left, too, but Victoria stayed, told Aunt Emma where stuff went as Mummy dried the dishes Grandma Ariel washed. “Thanks, Mum,” Mummy said as they finished, but Victoria had a feeling she didn’t mean for washing the dishes.

“Your father’s right, Mariah,” her grandmother said as she let the water out of the sinks, “though God knows how you’re going to keep any of this quiet. By now, the media have been talking to your neighbors, possibly to some of my friends, and while they might not know your husband’s name or what he does, I’m pretty sure they know yours and Victoria’s, Jack’s, too. You two do understand that the whole world may soon know who your husband is and what he really does?”

Mummy sighed. “We’ll face that if it happens.”

“Casey will, essentially, lose his job,” Grandma Ariel continued as she wiped the stove, “because spies whose faces are recognizable aren’t of much use.”

“John doesn’t do a lot of field work these days,” Mummy said, and Victoria thought she sounded a little guilty. “I doubt the NSA will cut him loose if he’s outed.”

“That little pit bull he works for won’t be there forever, Mariah.”

“And then they’ll need a replacement for her,” Mummy said. “The NSA is always led by a military officer, usually from the Air Force or the Navy.” Mummy smiled then. “Maybe it’s time the Marines got their turn.”

Grandma Ariel and Emma, who had been silent through that discussion, simply stared at Mummy. Victoria thought that might be the first time she had taken her own mum by surprise.

“Is that on the table?”

Mummy shrugged.

“Casey would absolutely loathe that job, Mariah.” Victoria could hear a kind of horror in her voice. “My God, can you see that man in an intelligence committee meeting trying to get what he wants or needs for his agency? Or briefing them on things he thinks they don’t need to know? I can’t even begin to imagine him dealing with an agency full of young nerds like your Chuck Bartowski.”

“Mum, the point is that John has other options, that even if his cover’s blown, his career isn’t completely over. Look at Dad. He never wanted that job, but he’s done quite well at it, despite his distaste for quite a bit of what he’s required to do.”

“Your father has charm, Mariah.”

Victoria sent a hard stare her grandmother’s way, but she didn’t think either woman even remembered she was there—and she wasn’t about to remind them because then she would have to be sneaky to hear the rest.

Mummy smiled, though, and assured her mother, “John has charm. _Believe_ me, John has charm.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing here,” her grandmother said, and though there was amusement in her voice, Victoria didn’t know what she found funny. “Why don’t you go make sure he has that charm in place while we find some way to amuse ourselves?”

Mummy was gone quite a while, and in that time, Victoria and Grandma Ariel talked about what she wanted for Christmas. Victoria’s first instinct was to blurt, “Jack to come home.”

Her grandmother had pulled her close and said, “He will. Your father will make damn sure of it.”

That confused Victoria, especially since Grandma Ariel almost never said nice things about Daddy.

“Now,” her grandma said, “What else might you like?”

Emma made some outrageous suggestions, and Victoria added to them. Honestly, there wasn’t a lot Victoria wanted, and a few of the things she wanted, she wasn’t about to ask for. She had her eye on a gun that she could maybe talk Daddy into, but if she asked for it and Mummy found out, it would not be a very merry Christmas. It wasn’t going to be anyway without Jack, she thought.

Emma asked, “Any news?”

Victoria shook her head. Then she admitted, “I don’t really know. No one tells me anything.”

Emma grinned at that and said, “Welcome to the family.”

Grandma Ariel told her what little they knew, though Aunt Emma apparently already knew most of it.

They talked about how to spend the day. Emma offered to play video games with her, and they were about to go upstairs when Grandpa V. H. came in. He told Victoria he needed her help first, so she followed him back to Daddy’s office. There, he showed her two pictures on his laptop.

“That’s the man and the woman from yesterday,” she told him. Then she narrowed her eyes. “That’s that Ilsa.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

She gave her grandfather a hard stare. She wouldn’t have said so if she hadn’t been.

He sighed and was about to say something, but Daddy came in, Mummy behind him. Daddy stopped short when he saw them there. “This office was secure.”

Grandpa V. H. grinned and then picked up a lock pick from the desk where he sat. “That’s why I picked it.”

Mummy was behind Daddy and made a face at Grandpa’s joke. It really wasn’t funny, so maybe that’s why Daddy looked mad. “Get away from my desk,” he grunted, and Grandpa V. H. got out of his chair and steered Victoria around the desk. Daddy sat down and did some things to the computer before telling Mummy, “That should take care of it. Don’t commit any espionage, or I’ll have to arrest you when I get back.”

Frowning, Victoria watched as her mum sat in Daddy’s chair when he got out of it. Daddy walked to the gun safe, opened it, and then took one of Mummy’s guns. That confused Victoria because she knew he didn’t like Glocks as well as he did his SIG Sauer or his Smith & Wesson Desert Eagle. He checked to make sure it was loaded, and then he holstered it before he stuck an extra clip in a pocket. He bent, kissed Mummy, and told he’d see her later, to call if she found anything he needed to know immediately, and then he kissed Victoria, too. “Stay out of trouble, kiddo.”

“You, too, Daddy.”

Grandpa V. H. followed Daddy out, so Victoria turned to watch her mum. Mummy was busy typing away at Daddy’s computer. She walked over, but not around the desk where she could see what Mummy was doing. Her mum shot her a look and said, “I have some work to do, Victoria. Do you need something?”

“You don’t work,” she pointed out.

Mummy gave her a tired smile. “I do today. Your grandfather had my codes activated so I can try and find some things to help get Jack back. It’ll be a lot faster than asking ICOM at ISI and then having them forwarded.”

“Can I help?”

“Yes,” her grandfather said firmly as he came back in. Victoria turned to look at him because Mummy had obviously been going to say no. He looked at Mummy. “Victoria identified Ilsa Trinchina and Antoine du Montfort as the people she saw tailing you yesterday.”

He had Victoria go back through it all one more time, asked questions to see if there was anything else she could add, and then he finally let her go. She spent the rest of the morning playing games with Emma and wondering what Mummy and Grandpa V. H. found out.

After lunch, Mummy went to the living room and switched on the TV. Grandma Ariel hadn’t been at lunch because she was going with that skinny lady spy somewhere. As they watched one of the news channels, some Chicago policeman began to talk. He made a statement that said stuff Victoria already knew—that Aunt Ellie, Clara, and Jack had been kidnapped, though he gave the wrong name for Jack. Well, he called him John, which was Jack’s real name though no one used it, but the man didn’t call him Casey. She saw Uncle Devon there. He looked really tired and really upset still. So did Grandma Ariel, who was there, too.

Because she’d seen Grandma Ariel on TV before, that didn’t seem weird, but seeing Uncle Devon there kind of was.

As the policeman talked, Victoria realized something and turned to Mummy, asked, “How come he isn’t telling all of it?”

“Because they don’t want the people who took Jack to know everything we do.”

She supposed that made sense, and when they introduced the skinny lady, they called her by a different name than the one she had used in their house that morning. Victoria figured that was because she was a spy and was pretending to be someone who wasn’t a spy, though that didn’t really explain calling Jack “John Taylor.” The skinny lady said that the families were understandably upset, that they begged whoever took them to return them. Then Uncle Devon begged them to bring his wife and daughter back before Grandma Ariel did the same for Jack. The reporters soon started shouting questions, and the skinny lady tried to answer them, but it seemed like she wasn’t exactly answering them.

The reporters must have thought the same thing, because they started getting grumpy. Finally, Uncle Devon said, “I just want my wife and daughter back.”

That led to a flurry of questions aimed at him, but he didn’t answer most of them, let the lady answer them instead.

And then someone asked Grandma Ariel about Jack and why he was with Aunt Ellie and Clara. Her grandmother replied, “My daughter and her children are friends with the Woodcomb family. They knew one another in California, and re-established their friendship here.”

That confused Victoria, because they had stayed friends all along.

“Didn’t your daughter once work for ISI?”

“Oh, God,” Mummy muttered and covered her eyes with her hand.

“They aren’t asking about Casey,” Grandpa V. H. pointed out.

“My daughter did work for ISI, but that was years ago and has nothing to do with this event.” She then had to explain that wasn’t the ISI in Pakistan but the one in Canada, and that meant she had to explain that Mummy was half Canadian.

“Nice lie, Mum,” Mummy grumbled.

“Necessary lie,” Grandpa V. H. said.

Victoria wondered which part had been a lie, figured it must be the first part, that ISI wasn’t involved.

The rest was pretty boring, consisted mostly of the skinny lady and Grandma Ariel either telling lies or telling only part of the truth, especially when they asked if Mummy was married and to whom. When it was over, Mummy sighed.

“They won’t leave it alone,” Victoria’s grandfather warned.

“I know,” Mummy answered, “but with any luck, they won’t get any closer.”

Mummy didn’t go back to work in Daddy’s office that afternoon. Instead, she tried to go about her normal activities, but Victoria noticed that now and then she’d stop, look a little lost, and then breathe in and out for a minute or so before continuing with whatever task she’d chosen. When Grandma Ariel came back, she went upstairs to take a nap, said she was exhausted. Grandpa V. H. just disappeared, and Aunt Emma stayed with Victoria.

When Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck brought Alex and Uncle Morgan to their house, Victoria was glad. Mummy perked up a little, smiled at Alex, returned her hug, though she evaded Uncle Morgan. Victoria thought it was a pretty neat trick how it wasn’t completely obvious that was what she did. In some ways, Mummy was kind of like Daddy, and it always surprised Victoria when she noticed that. She wondered if married people became more like the people they married or if they just married people who were like them.

They had to explain what happened to them, and Victoria noticed they weren’t telling Alex and Uncle Morgan everything. She didn’t know why family couldn’t know everything, but she figured Mummy didn’t want Alex to worry too much. After they finished asking questions, Mummy and Alex talked about the baby she was going to have while Uncle Morgan and Uncle Chuck talked about games and people they knew in California.

Victoria sat beside Mummy and thought about what Daddy might be doing. She hoped he would find Jack and bring him home, and then they could just have a normal Christmas. She wondered if she could persuade Mummy to make gingerbread men. Daddy liked them, too, though last year Mummy had found some cookie cutters that were missing body parts and another set that were ninjas. Daddy had given them a funny look, but he ate them anyway. She thought Mummy had made those because he made fun of the fact that she usually made gingerbread women, too, and Daddy teased her that the cookies were called gingerbread _men_ for a reason _._

Before she could think much more about it, there was a lot of noisy activity at the front of the house, so Victoria went to see what was going on.

 

\----------X----------

 

Casey was nearly dressed when his wife let herself into their bedroom. Riah quietly closed the door behind her and crossed to where he stood next to the dresser. He lifted his black and gray striped tie to loop it around his neck and tie it, but she took it from him.

“What?” he groused.

“You’re going to talk to a couple of seven-year-olds,” she chided. “I don’t think the bastard G-Man look is the way to go.”

“I’m not there to charm them,” he reminded her.

She laughed, so he asked her what was so funny.

“Mum told me to come check that your charm is in place.”

The way she said that and the little smile she gave him made him think they might be talking about very different things. He was about to take his tie back, but she went to the closet to find another one. “You should have worn the grey or the brown suit,” she said, her voice muffled by the walls of the closet. “The black one makes you intimidating, which is fine for grownups.”

“Who works for _Spy Vogue_ now?” he complained, remembering a taunt she’d once made when he questioned what she wore for an op before they were married.

Her grin nearly had him taking defensive measures. “Shouldn’t that be _SPYQ_?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned.

She handed him a blue tie with thin black stripes. “This one’s better.”

He put it around his neck and began weaving a Windsor knot while she watched. As he kept his eyes on her, he noticed she appeared to be gathering her courage for something. When he finished with the tie, he dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her closer. “Riah.”

A blush stole over her cheeks. “I need you to get me into your computer,” she told him. “Dad’s going to activate my ICOM codes so I can search through some Canadian databases for intel on Quinnell. I’d rather not have the FBI watching over my shoulder if I use mine.”

He thought a few minutes. It would be a big help if she could turn up anything, and one thing he knew about his wife was that if there was anything to be found, she would find it. It would also be far easier if she could find it herself rather than have to go through whoever would censor what was found. “I’ll have to talk to Beckman.”

She frowned up at him, looked a little pissed.

“If I get you in, Riah, I don’t have enough time to set up firewalls to keep you out of our databases. She’ll have to okay this, too, possibly have someone build those before we allow you on.”

Mollified, she nodded, but he had a feeling she was seething underneath. Then she gave him a sly little smile. “So what you’re saying is that your computer isn’t as secure as Beckman would probably want it to be?”

He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “It is; it’s just that if I log you on, you have the ability to access some things under my credentials you shouldn’t.” He bent and kissed her. “Just do me a favor.”

Her brows shot up.

“Don’t get into trouble.”

She lifted onto her toes, put her hands on his cheeks, and pulled him down into a kiss. “I can’t promise to stay out of trouble,” she said, then kissed him again, longer this time. If he hadn’t been under a nearing deadline, he’d have considered exploring that a little further, and then he felt guilty as he remembered the reason for that looming deadline.

Casey told her, “I need to borrow one of your Glocks.”

Her brows shot up. “Why?” He could hear skepticism in that single word. “Something wrong with your SIG?”

He made a face. “FBI agents carry Glocks,” he ground out.

Riah laughed. “Okay.” She kissed him again, and then added, “Don’t get killed using a weapon you aren’t used to.”

“They’re seven year olds,” he reminded her.

“Then don’t kill them.”

 

Riah’s warning could have been prophetic, because Tori Bates made that tempting. He and Dietrich had arrived at her apartment building after driving down the narrow street between it and the grocery where the kidnapping had taken place. It was more alley than street, and they drove past the backs of several tightly clustered buildings as they made their way to the apartment block where Tori lived with her parents.

Like a lot of apartment buildings in that neighborhood, there was parking underneath, a single level open to the street divided only by support pillars and strips of concrete curbing to mark the individual spots. Casey spied two surveillance cameras, but they aimed at the building’s parking, not the street. It would be worth checking to see what was on them. He pointed them out to Dietrich as the man drove in.

As they climbed from the Suburban, a Middle Eastern man rushed toward them telling them loudly they couldn’t park there, that the spots were for residents only. Casey wondered if all parking facilities in Lincoln Park were staffed with Middle Eastern men. They both held out badges, but he let Dietrich do the talking since Casey had been less than polite the day before.

Upstairs, he let Dietrich knock on the third-floor door to the Bates’s apartment. An attractive bottle blonde in her thirties opened the door, frowned at them in the narrow opening over the still-attached door chain.

Sometimes Casey really wanted to tell people how useless those chains were for security. Once the door was open, all it took was a solid kick to pull the damn things out of the door facing—unless a building super had sunk longer bolts into the studs beneath, but very few ever did. He kept that to himself, though, knew better than to scare the civilian, and held up the FBI badge and credentials when Dietrich introduced them.

“We’d like to speak to your daughter, Tori,” Dietrich explained.

The mother went from puzzled to terrified, and Casey wondered if she thought they were there to arrest the kid. He considered what possible crime a seven year old might commit.

“Why?” she breathed, obviously close to panic.

“Your daughter may have witnessed part of yesterday’s kidnapping at the market across the street,” Dietrich explained. “We’d like to ask her about the men and the vehicle she saw.”

The woman’s hand went to her throat. Casey could see she wanted to tell them they were mistaken and to go away. Before she could do so, he said, “A friend of hers says your daughter told her last night she saw both the four men who took them and the car. We’d just like her to describe them to us.”

When she brought her daughter into the living room, the girl took one look at Casey and said, “You’re Victoria’s dad, aren’t you?”

Given his daughter looked like her mother, he was at a loss for how she knew that. Dietrich barely smothered a laugh. Casey didn’t find it in the least funny, especially since the whole point of pretending to be FBI was to make sure no one figured out who he really was.

“I’ve seen you pick her up at school,” the girl added. “Is she the one who told you I saw the men?”

Casey was about to say yes, but Tori simply sailed on.

“Do you have a gun?”

The temptation to pull it was growing stronger by the moment, but Tori apparently didn’t need to see it or even to hear an answer since she fired her next question almost immediately: “How long have you worked for the FBI?”

He opened his mouth to redirect her, but the girl shotgunned another question: “Your wife’s really pretty, but isn’t she a lot younger than you?”

Her mother hissed her name in horror. A growl left him before he could stop it. Tori opened her mouth to, presumably, ask another personal question, but Dietrich opened the file he held and quickly cut in to say, “If you could look at these photographs and tell us if you recognize any of these men, we’d appreciate it.”

The girl quit asking questions to look at the pictures Dietrich spread on the coffee table. She quickly pointed to Quinnell’s photograph, and a few seconds later she put a finger on one of Bailey Ford. V. H. had given him Quinnell’s and those of several other CSIS operatives the Canadians suspected who had connections to Quinnell, and Beckman had provided Ford’s and a couple of others. Dietrich had padded it out with some criminals. Tori touched another photograph and said, “Him, too, but I don’t recognize any of the others.”

When asked, she told them what she saw: Quinnell came out of the store carrying Jack, though she called him “the other kid,” and got in the back of the SUV. Bailey followed, got in the driver’s seat, and the other man she identified climbed in the back holding Clara after the other man put Ellie in the back as well before he got in the front passenger seat. She described the man in detail, and then Dietrich told her mother he’d like Tori to describe him to a sketch artist. Tori took them to the window to show them where she had been, and Casey noticed she had had a very clear view of the grocery’s front doors. She pointed to where the SUV had been parked, and then she described it. Dietrich asked if Ellie or the two children fought, but Tori said no, not really.

Casey narrowed his eyes on her. “Not really?”

“Clara tried to kick one of them.”

While Dietrich made arrangements with her mother for her to escort Tori to the field office, Tori looked up at Casey and asked, “Have you ever shot anyone?”

He looked down at her, considered telling her the precise number since he thought that might shut her up, but he chose not to. Other parents didn’t seem to appreciate his blunt honesty about some things. Instead, he asked her, “Have you?”

She giggled. “Don’t be silly.”

Since that was an accusation no one had ever made about him before, Casey stared. Then he asked quietly, “Is there anything else you remember about yesterday?”

Her little face turned thoughtful a moment. “There was a woman in a fur coat,” she said. “You don’t see that very often because you aren’t supposed to wear fur anymore because it’s cruel or something.”

Casey studied her, remembered that Victoria’s woman had worn fur. “Can you tell me anything else about her?”

Little Tori shrugged. “Some guy with a limp came out of the grocery, and they got in a car parked over there.” She pointed up the street a little toward the intersection with Deming. “They drove after the guys who took Clara and her mom and that other kid.”

“Do you remember what they were driving?”

“It was blue,” she said. “I don’t know what kind of car it was except it was blue—not big, not small.”

Mid-size sedan, he thought. “Dark blue? Light blue?”

She thought about it a moment. “Kind of in between.”

When they left, Casey mulled over the additional information. If it really was Ilsa, then he considered how to contact her. Maybe she knew where Quinnell and his men had gone to ground and where his son was. He’d have to find her first, and that was something his wife might be able to help with—though he would really prefer to not have to ask her. Perhaps it was a good job for V. H. or even Walker.

The other girl wasn’t much help, but her mother described the accident. Neither of them had noticed the people in the SUV, but for the hell of it, Casey asked about the blue car. Neither remembered seeing one.

When they were back in the SUV, Dietrich asked, “What was that about a blue car?”

“Tori Bates said she saw what sounds like the man and woman Victoria described getting into one and following the SUV.”

“We’ll take a look at the traffic cameras again, see if we can spot it.” He sighed. “I’ve got agents getting the footage from the cameras where the Bateses live. We got the warrant a little while ago.”

Casey’s phone rang. The screen said it was an unidentified number, so he nearly didn’t answer it. When he did, it was Ellie.

“John?” Her voice wavered.

“Yes,” he said and softly told Dietrich who it was. The other man called it in.

“We’re okay,” she said. There was a slight pause, and then she added, “They want you to come alone.”

“Where?”

“There’s a little park where Halsted, Lincoln and Fullerton all come together,” she said, “across from the McDonald’s and the Pita Pit. Clara will be there in ten minutes. She’ll have what you need.”

He shot a look at his watch, calculated given their position and the traffic. “Ellie, I can’t get there that fast.”

“You have to John,” and then the connection was broken.

“Not enough for a trace,” Dietrich said. Casey scanned the street. “What did she say?”

“Pull over,” he ordered when he spied an open spot just ahead, and the other man pulled into it.

“Get out.” Dietrich was about to argue, so Casey pulled Riah’s Glock. “They said alone, so you’re getting out.”

“Remember the part where you take orders from me?”

Dietrich was furious, but Casey didn’t care. “I’ll tell you where I’m going, but I don’t have time to argue. Get the fuck out. One of your people can pick you up and then get you there.” For a second, he though Dietrich would argue further. “I’ll do what it takes to get Jack back,” he warned, “so get out before I run out of time.”

Slamming the SUV into park, Dietrich unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. Casey reholstered the Glock, jogged around and told Dietrich where he was going. He didn’t feel guilty. He’d be following instructions, but he wasn’t an idiot, so having Dietrich and his team follow wasn’t technically breaking the rules. He got in the driver’s seat and put the lights on before pulling back into traffic and drove as fast as he dared without unduly endangering anyone else.

When he reached the location Ellie had given him, he illegally parked in the turn lane beside the triangular park and left the lights on. Clara stood not far from a sculpture that looked like a ring of dancing children. He strode quickly to her, eyeing the surrounding area, but he didn’t see anyone who looked like they were paying any particular attention to either him or the child he approached.

Clara looked scared to death, but, given what she’d been through, Casey couldn’t say he blamed her. He stopped a few feet from her and considered what to say. He was certain they were being watched or, at the very least, listened to.

Casey crouched in front of her so they were on about eye level. “Are you alright, Clara?”

She nodded.

“Your mom and Jack?”

Once more she nodded.

“I spoke to your mom,” he said, kept his eyes on hers. “She said you had something for me.”

Clara nodded again.

He decided, watching the terror remain firmly fixed on her face, that he wasn’t leaving her there, wasn’t letting them take her back. “It’s warmer in the car. Why don’t we go over there and you can give me whatever it is there?”

She began shaking her head vigorously as her terror visibly increased.

“What’s wrong?” Casey asked, kept his voice level and quiet.

“They said not to move more than ten feet from that statue.” He followed her pointing finger to the closest child sculpture about four feet away. He looked back at her.

“Why?”

She slowly unzipped her parka several inches. Casey stared at the vest she wore beneath it. It would be a real pleasure to kill these bastards. “Clara, I need to ask you some questions, okay?”

After she nodded, he asked, “Are they watching?”

Another nod.

“Are they listening?”

She nodded, lifted her hand to a spot just below her zipper pull. Casey slowly reached a hand out and lifted it, observed the small bug. It didn’t have a very big range, so they must be close. “What do you have for me?”

“They said to tell you they want Uncle Chuck and Aunt Mariah,” she told him. “They’ll trade us for them.”

Casey slowly pulled her parka zipper so he could better see what was beneath it, careful to leave the bug where the people watching could hear their conversation. It was a fairly simple bomb rigged to a bulletproof vest. Since the vest was meant for an adult, it was loose on Clara, which would simplify things. He worried because the bomb would be so easy to disable, which made him think they were trying to get him to do so only to find the trigger was something else—or he’d detonate it. “Anything else?”

The bomb was probably on a frequency that would trigger it if Clara moved those extra six feet, he thought, which meant there was something attached to the child sculpture to make that happen. Casey wasn’t going to worry about that, though, since he intended to get her safely out of there.

“They will call you tonight, tell you where to bring them,” she said. “They said just you and Uncle Chuck and Aunt Mariah are supposed to come.”

He held her gaze and ran his fingers beneath her parka and under the straps over her shoulders, was relieved to find there was nothing there but the straps. He was about to take a huge risk, and he hoped like hell he wasn’t wrong. He took the bug, dropped it close to his foot and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. He quickly disconnected the bomb with one hand, pulled a knife and slit the straps with the other. He yanked the vest down and lifted Clara clear of it before he realized he couldn’t leave a bomb in the park for anyone to find. He grabbed it and ran to the car, held Clara so whoever was watching wouldn’t get a shot at her, and shoved her in the back seat. Casey told her to get in the floor and stay down. He dropped the vest and explosives over the seat into the cargo area and hoped they couldn’t remotely trigger it as he slammed the door then yanked open the front one, got in the driver’s seat and drove.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter without Victoria.

As he drove, Casey thought. That had been far too easy, and no one appeared to be coming after them. No one shot at them, either, and he would have expected that at the very least since he had essentially grabbed one of their hostages. That said they wanted Casey to take Clara, and that meant she wasn’t a genuine target. He wondered what the FBI would find when they examined the vest she’d been wearing. He’d have to have her searched, too, but that was a job for a female agent. Clara was going to be examined by a medic, he knew, and the doc could look for anything else suspicious but not medical.

He called Dietrich. The man was furious when he answered. “Where the fuck are you, Casey? Because you sure as hell aren’t at the park you sent me to.”

Explaining quickly, he told Dietrich to look at the sculpture and see what he could find. Then he asked what the situation was at the Woodcomb house.

“Very little media,” he said. “They’re mostly clustered around your place hoping your mother-in-law will decide to talk.”

“Clara and I will meet you there.” It would probably be a good idea to get Woodcomb.

“You’ll take her to the field office,” Dietrich countermanded. “We’ll need a statement, and we’ll need to examine the vest and bomb, make sure there’s no other evidence on her that we need to recover. Then you can take her home.”

Because it had to be done and because Woodcomb might balk, he agreed. He also felt like he owed Dietrich. While they had been friends for years, Casey was well aware there was only so far he could stretch the boundaries before they snapped. He’d stretched it pretty thin with this. After he hung up, Clara’s voice came from the back seat. “Uncle Casey?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get off the floor now?”

It was probably safer to let her get in a seat and buckle a seatbelt, especially if someone decided to pursue them, so he said yes. She did exactly that, took the center of the bench seat, and then asked, “Where are we going?”

“You need to answer some questions for the authorities, so I’m taking you where the people who will do that work.” His eyes shot to the mirror.

“My mom said you work for the government.”

“Close enough,” he told her, glad she was holding it together, which he attributed to her Bartowski genes.

“A lady asked me to give you something.”

He had to stop for a red light, so he turned to look at her. Clara held out a piece of paper folded into a small square. Casey reached back for it and shot a look at the still-red light. There was a name written on the outside in a large, loopy hand he recognized. That confirmed one piece of the puzzle, but it raised dozens of questions. He unfolded it. A quick glance told him it was a floorplan, but he didn’t have a chance to examine it in detail before the light changed.

“Who’s Sugar Bear?” Clara asked.

Clara’s question made his teeth grit, a reaction he’d had to that name since a smirking Bartowski had asked the same question years earlier. Casey wasn’t going to admit to the nickname, though, so he asked her, “Can you describe the woman who gave this to you?”

“She was kind of tall, brown hair. Pretty.”

“Anything else?”

“She had an accent,” Clara added, “but I don’t know what it was. She said she used to know you and that I should give that to you. She said it would help you find Jack.”

So the blueprint was likely the floorplan of the place where they were being held. “Clara, did they keep all of you together, or did they separate you?”

“My mom made them let me and Jack stay with her,” she told him.

If that remained true, then that greatly simplified things. “Did they say anything in front of you I need to know?”

Casey made a face as he negotiated a lane change, and then there was another red light. That was probably the vaguest question he could have asked, and it begged for Clara to tell him every trivial detail she’d heard. Fortunately, the Bartowski brains kicked in before the family tendency to babble under stress did. “They talked about Uncle Chuck working for the CIA,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “I asked Mom about that later, but she said the men must be mistaken. They also said he was something called the Intersect, but that didn’t make any sense.”

He very nearly asked why not, but since her mother had apparently done a good deal to make her think none of that was true, Casey wasn’t going to raise suspicions that might come back to burn them all. Clara and Tori of the Never-Ending Questions Bates were the real friends in their age group, so he didn’t want to encourage any discussion of government secrets amongst them.

“They said Aunt Mariah was a spy, too.”

Searching his memory for whether anyone had ever actually told Ellie that, Casey considered how to answer Clara, for he was certain that statement was meant to be a question. If she was anything like her mother or her uncle, he’d have no relief until she got an answer. It didn’t have to be the truth, he reminded himself. “My wife isn’t a spy,” he said carefully. He didn’t lie to his kids, but he generally avoided answering their questions that would force him to do so. What he told Clara was the truth so far as he knew, but he had increasingly begun to suspect that it might well be a lie. Normally, he didn’t feel guilty about lying to other people’s children, but Clara was different.

Perhaps he should have someone take a good look at the searches Riah ran on his computer, he thought, considered his wife’s possible status with what was supposed to be her former agency, and realized he hadn’t asked because he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“I know that,” she told him, and Casey could hear her father’s assertiveness in her tone. “Daddy says Aunt Mariah is just a housewife.”

_One who could kill your dad in ways that would be completely untraceable and wouldn’t raise a bit of suspicion in anyone if she heard him say that_ , Casey thought irritably. _One who could destroy Pretty-Boy Woodcomb’s entire life without breaking a nail or raising any suspicions in the other man_. Casey’s wife was _not_ just a housewife.

Irrationally, he was pissed that people believed that, even though that was exactly what they were supposed to believe.

Caseu considered, as he pulled up to the gate that led to the FBI field office’s parking, that he still hadn’t gotten over what Riah had been forced to give up in order to marry him—even if evidence indicated she might not actually have completely done so.

They cleared Casey through. When he parked in the garage, he got out of the car and stepped to the back to let Clara out. He opened the door, leaned his forearm against the roof, and bent down so he could see her and keep an eye on the elevators and the security station next to them. “Listen, Clara,” he said, spying a couple of agents headed their way. “I’ve brought you to the FBI. They have to ask you some questions, and you need to honestly tell them what you know, okay?”

She nodded, her face pale.

“Tell them everything—except for one thing. Don’t mention that they called your Uncle Chuck the Intersect.”

Her little face screwed up, confused. Casey knew what he’d said didn’t make sense to her, especially since he’d just told her to be honest but tell one lie. He knew he couldn’t really explain, and that was only going to confuse her more.

“It’s really important that you don’t tell them that,” he rushed on, keeping the approaching agents in sight. “You can tell them anything else that was said about the Intersect, just don’t mention that they said it was Uncle Chuck.”

Clara didn’t look comforted.

Casey hated making deals, and he especially hated making them with kids. Half the time anything they knew came pouring out at precisely the wrong time to exactly the wrong people. Then it required a lot of explaining to make it go away, to convince people the kid had just had a flight of imagination, had been watching too much television or some other bullshit, but needs must, he supposed.

“Your mother’s right,” he said. “I work for the government, and Uncle Chuck’s connection to the Intersect is a secret, a really big one, and one that no one can be told. Can you keep that secret, Clara?”

She was pure Awesome in that moment, and Casey hoped she could hold it together better than the rest of her family sometimes did. She met his eyes, straightened in her seat, and nodded firmly.

“Good girl,” he said, and reached in to lift her out.

“Colonel Casey?” one of the agents clipped out as he set Clara on the ground.

Clara’s head screwed around to look up at him. Casey hoped she’d assume that his government job was no more than his military one and go no further. He slowly reached a hand in his overcoat’s breast pocket and removed his NSA credentials, held them out to them. “I’ve shown you mine,” he said tightly. “Show me yours.” After all, he wasn’t handing Clara over without being certain to whom he was handing her.

They held their badges and ID out only long enough for him to read them. Once they had done so, he waited, and he didn’t have to wait long.

“Our SAC would like us to detain you,” the woman said. Casey eyed her, and if it hadn’t been for Clara’s presence, he’d have suggested she could try, probably in less than polite terms.

“This is Clara Woodcomb,” he said instead, putting his hand on Clara’s shoulder. “Your CARD people might be interested in hearing what she has to say.”

He was pretty sure Clara couldn’t lead them back to where the others were held, was certain Quinnell’s people had ensured she couldn’t see landmarks she could share and had driven her around enough she’d be unable to clearly explain the route from memory, so they would chase their tails awhile trying to retrace that route. Besides, he’d bet Quinnell had already moved Jack and Ellie just in case. The man wasn’t stupid, after all.

Pity.

The female agent smiled at Clara, asked her to go with her. Clara shrank back against Casey. “Not without Uncle Casey.”

The agents looked startled. Casey, well aware of his reputation, was mildly irritated and partially amused, though he wasn’t sure which of those was directed at whom. “Go with Agent . . . .”

“Fillmore,” the woman supplied.

“Go with Agent Fillmore, Clara,” he told her. Looking down, it was easy to see that she didn’t want to leave him. “You’ll be safe. She’s one of the good guys.”

“You won’t leave me here, will you?” she asked, and for the first time, she looked like she might cry.

That expression, the trembling lower lip, the brown eyes beginning to fill with tears, got to him, which he didn’t like having to admit. Once more Casey crouched down in front of her. “I won’t,” he promised, “but I have to talk to people, too, and the sooner we do that, the sooner we can take you to your dad and then go find your mom and Jack.”

Watching her walk away with Special Agent Fillmore, Casey rose, shifted to thinking about what he’d need to do to placate Dietrich, possibly to deflect him and his agents while Casey and his team quietly took over. The Intersect’s specter meant they’d have to.

“Heard you weren’t the fluffy, reassuring type,” the male agent said with a voice like gravel. He looked like a refrigerator, the old, short, rounded kind with the lever handle to open the doors.

Casey turned an arctic gaze on the guy. Jesus, he looked like he was still in high school, so had the female agent, for that matter. The longer he stared at the kid, who grew increasingly uncomfortable, the more Casey realized the refrigerator was the kind who was mostly bluff despite his brawn. One day he’d learn that the muscle wasn’t protection if he wasn’t willing to use it and that keeping his mouth shut would probably get him further. Casey wasn’t really in the mood to school him, though, so when they were joined by two other agents, he simply said, “Stash me wherever Dietrich told you to.”

One of the other agents snorted, gestured with a hand toward the elevator doors where Fillmore had disappeared with Clara. As Casey started to walk, he looked over his shoulder at the fridge and said, “Present for your bomb squad in the cargo area,” and tossed him the keys to Dietrich’s SUV.

He half expected an interview room at best or a holding cell at worst. Instead, he was shown into a small conference room, asked if he’d like coffee or anything else. He accepted the coffee. While he waited, he took his phone out, and then he wondered who to call first. His instinct was to call Riah, but while she’d be happy about Clara, she’d be crushed that they didn’t have Jack. He’d rather deal with that disappointment in person. Woodcomb could use the good news, but Casey suspected it might be better to let the FBI notify him. After all, Casey had potentially further endangered the man’s daughter—possibly his wife—by his actions in the park. They also didn’t need any announcements made before they had the message they wanted sent ready, and there was a chance Woodcomb might say something to the press or to someone else who would.

For a moment, Casey breathed deeply. He’d taken a huge risk when he snatched Clara back. After a moment’s reflection, he realized he wouldn’t do anything differently. He had a win, and they would get some badly needed information. He’d probably ruined any chance Dietrich would let him continue to participate in his investigation, but Casey figured it was time to go play with his own team.

Once he’d been given coffee and left alone, he dialed Beckman. He considered the most concise way to relate what he had to say since he didn’t know what his time window might be before he had the FBI pointing fingers at him. As he waited to connect, he pulled out the piece of paper Clara had given him in the car to take a better look at it.

The floorplan was hand-drawn, but there was no street address, no directions, to help him figure out where it was located. It looked like a factory or a warehouse since the bulk of it was open space. It was the oddly designed addition on the end of that open space that would help identify it, but Casey was pretty sure that if this was where they were being held, then it was an operational nightmare. The hallways in the addition made an asterisk pattern, which meant everything could be seen from the center of the star.

Other than that name on the outside, there was nothing written on the paper besides the drawing. He refolded it, stuck it in one of his suitcoat pockets.

He filled his boss in, quickly because he was certain Dietrich would arrive any moment. Of course, it was also likely the FBI was listening in, but he’d disclose most if not all of it to Dietrich when he turned up anyway. When he finished, General Beckman sighed. “I think, Colonel, it’s time to put both your wife and Mr. Bartowski under guard in a secure facility for the foreseeable future.”

“General—“ he began, but she wasn’t having it.

“I’ve heard your arguments many times over the years, Casey, and unless you’ve got a new one, this time you will not persuade me.”

She paused while he sought inspiration. “My house is an armed camp,” he bit out. “Between Riah’s father, and the two of us—not to mention the FBI—I think we can keep Quinnell and his people out. The media spectacle alone makes any attempt far too risky.” He sucked in a breath, calculated space, and said, “Woodcomb, Clara, Walker and Bartowski can move in with us for the duration.”

“You and Agent Walker are going to be busy,” she reminded him with an edge of sarcasm, “and while your wife has some admirable skills, her instability makes her too great a liability to entrust the Intersect to her.”

By now, she should know that where Walker went, Bartowski would insist on following, but Casey left that unsaid. “V. H. will be there, and Paul Patterson is on his way. Perhaps Forrest can lend a hand as well.”

There was a long silence. “Remind me how big this house your wife bought is, Colonel.”

Casey gritted his teeth at her sarcasm, but he’d recoiled at the size when Riah walked him through it the first time. It was one of those greystones that had begun life as an apartment building, though as Riah led him through the four floors, counting the basement, she had told him how she planned to renovate it as a family home. All he could think at the time was that there were only four of them, and they didn’t need that much space. She’d left two of the apartments, one on the top floor and one in the basement, intact, and when he asked why, she had shrugged, grinned, and said, “Live-in staff? Rental property? A space for Alex and Morgan when they visit to have plenty of privacy?”

Only the last had been a viable possibility in Casey’s eyes, mainly because the idea of having strangers take care of them and their things made him twitch, and because, given the things they generally kept in their home, there was no way he’d allow unknown renters to have keys to any part of the building. Perhaps in acknowledgement of that, Riah had smiled, told him, “Between the two of us, we have a lot of extended family. This is one place with enough room for all of us at one time.”

Now, that might come in handy. “Big enough,” he said to Beckman.

Through the glass that separated him from the rest of the floor’s offices, he saw Dietrich stalking toward him. “General,” he began, but her sigh stopped him.

“Alright. For now. Forrest will stay with your wife and the Intersect.”

“One other thing,” he said, calculating Dietrich’s speed and the distance he still had to cover. He took Beckman’s silence as permission to proceed. “Ilsa Trinchina is a player, though I’m not exactly sure how at this point.”

“Your wife is one step ahead of you there, Colonel,” she said crisply. “Mariah stayed entirely within Canadian databases as she ran down information on your computer, but just in case, I had someone tagging along with her. Your wife has matched stolen military weapons to a frightening number of terrorist plots and attacks. In each case, the weapons were those manufactured by Bridges. In several of those cases, the weapons were stolen from Canadian bases and sold to terrorists overseas, though our own bases leaked quite a few of them. Your wife confirmed that the French believe Win Bridges facilitated those sales using Warren Quinnell’s contacts to both steal and sell them. I suspect Ms. Trinchina is there to do precisely the same thing you are.”

Casey had two reactions to that news: pride in his wife’s skills and dread that he was going to have to admit to her Ilsa was around and involved in his case. He was a little pissed, though, that Riah hadn’t called to tell him what she’d learned.

When Dietrich hit the door, Casey was hanging up after the General had done so with a warning to “play nicely.” He returned his phone to his pocket, put his fingertips together where his hands rested next to his coffee cup on the table, and sat up straight. He had taken what was the seat at the head of the table, so Dietrich crossed the room and dropped into the chair to his left.

“I should arrest you,” the other man clipped out, “but given you retrieved one of the hostages, I’ll let that go for the moment.” He gave Casey a steely look. “Do that again, and I swear to God, Casey, I will shoot you myself.”

“Understood,” Casey offered, and Dietrich could take that as an apology if he wished.

“So what did Clara Woodcomb tell you?”

Only then did Casey realize he hadn’t questioned Clara about the message she’d been there to deliver. He was going to have to give up what she had told him because he was certain Clara was currently telling Agent Fillmore the same thing. “They want Riah and Bartowski, and they’ll call tonight with the specifics. That’s all we had time for Clara to tell me.”

The other man studied him. “I got a look at what they strapped to her.” He shook his head. “Jesus, Casey, you could have taken out half a block.”

He was very well aware. Then he considered, frowned. “It was too easy.”

Dietrich gave him a confused stare. “What?”

“She was wearing a bug and an easily disarmed bomb. She said they were watching her, but they didn’t even take a shot when I grabbed her and ran for the car.” He scratched absently at his cheek. “You don’t give up a hostage without getting something in return, and damned if I can figure out what they got.”

A thought hit him, then. “Was it even a real bomb?”

“As I said, Casey, you could have taken out half a block if you’d fucked up.”

There was a possibility that Ilsa, who had given Clara the blueprint, had made sure it wasn’t complex, and if she and Antoine du Montfort were on the inside, maybe they had been entrusted with this little mission. Maybe that explained the ease with which he had been able to extract Clara Woodcomb. There was an itch, though, something in the back of his brain he couldn’t quite retrieve at the moment.

“I get why they want Bartowski,” Dietrich said, “but why your wife?”

Casey weighed options. As far as he knew, the other man didn’t know about the Intersect or that Bartowski was it. From the way the man eyed him, though, he knew something. He breathed in, then out, weighed his options, and gave up Riah. “My wife, as a child, was part of a top secret program ISI ran. Warren Quinnell knows about it, and he probably thinks she’s valuable because of it.”

Dietrich sprawled back in his chair, planted an elbow on one of the arms, and leaned his jaw into his raised hand. He studied Casey. “Your wife is V. H. Adderly’s daughter, Casey. I figure that makes her more valuable than Bartowski. Her safety for the keys to the kingdom.” The other man’s eyes narrowed. “I would think, though, that from their perspective, your son would be far easier to manage and of enough value to not only get ISI’s secrets but the NSA’s as well.”

Part of Casey resented that on a deeply personal level, but part of him acknowledged the fairness in Dietrich’s evaluation. He would never betray his employers or his country, but V. H. might betray his own to get Jack back for his daughter.

Uncomfortably, Casey swiftly recognized that he was wrong, that in order to get his son back and alleviate his wife’s grief, he most likely would betray secrets if there was no other way he could rescue his son and make sure his wife was safe as well. What he sold for his son would probably be secrets they could afford to lose, but that didn’t change the fact that Casey might well commit treason for his family. That made him weak, reminded him why he had originally decided never to do this, never to become a family man, when he took the job. He’d given up Kath, lost his chance to be a part of Alex’s life all along when he did, but when he looked at Bartowski, a man who wore his emotions not only on his sleeve but plastered all over every part of him, he’d thought maybe he’d been wrong, that this kind of life was possible.

It wasn’t, though, and he was a fool to ever think that just because his wife came from a similar background, was trained with a similar skillset, that they might be the exceptions.

Truthfully, Casey very well might betray all for his wife’s sake, for the sake of either of his children—any of his children, if he included Alex—and that realization made him more uncomfortable than he’d ever been in his life.

Thankfully, Dietrich moved on, though Casey didn’t completely, worried at the idea of what he might do if he was backed into a corner and forced to choose before this was over. “Anything else?” the other man asked.

Casey considered, and then he reached into his pocket for the floorplan Ilsa had sent him. He handed it over, watched Dietrich’s brows shoot up at the name scrawled on it, and then scrutinized the other man as he studied the drawing. Casey figured Dietrich might be able to identify the building on the page and save him some time. “Warehouse,” the man mused. “Not sure where or which one, but if I can make a copy, I’ll see if we can identify it.”

Casey half expected his old friend to question the name Ilsa had scribbled on the outside, but instead Dietrich pointed out, “Your wife would make exceptional bait, would probably hold up better than Bartowski.”

It was tempting to remind him of what he surely knew by now, that Riah had mental health issues that might actually make Bartowski the stronger candidate for a false trade, if it came to that. Instead, Casey said, “Let’s see if we can find any other alternative.”

Nodding, Dietrich stood up and went to the conference room door. He spoke softly to the man who had joined him, handed over the floorplan, and returned to his seat. “I assume you’re about to take the case away from me.”

Eyeing him, Casey considered dissembling. “Parts of it,” he admitted, “but I still need you and your people visibly protecting two families no one must know are connected to clandestine services.”

“You weren’t watching the press conference,” Dietrich snorted. “Your wife’s affiliation—“

“Former affiliation,” Casey cut in tightly.

“—came up about fifteen minutes ago.” Dietrich cocked a brow. “Your mother-in-law admitted it was a former affiliation and unrelated to the kidnappings, though we both know that’s a lie and one the reporters are going to chip away at.”

That, Casey acknowledged, was probably true. He sighed, lifted his own brows. “Then we’d better get Jack and Ellie back quickly so they have no reason to do so.”

For the next hour, they discussed how to do that. Dietrich put someone on identifying the building in the floorplan after he returned the original to Casey. He called a handful of agents in while Casey shot a look at his watch. Walker and Bartowski should be meeting Alex and Grimes’s plane, so he considered his options and finally decided to represent his partner and the Intersect and share later. Getting Alex to the house safely was more important at the moment, and Bartowski still remained a wild card at times in interagency meetings.

The truth was, without a hard target, there wasn’t a lot they could do. Any movements, any numbers, remained hypothetical without knowing where the building was and more about the obstacles they would face. Casey grew impatient as things dragged on, but he knew he wasn’t going anywhere until the FBI was finished with Clara, and even then he’d review what she told them and ask some follow-up questions while he still had her separated from her father, who would probably interfere.

It was one of those times when he wished Riah was there, knew she’d be able to question Clara more easily since she knew the child better, and it was likely the girl would trust Riah more. He considered escorting Clara to the house and letting Riah do exactly that while Woodcomb was brought over.

When Fillmore appeared, Dietrich sent his team off with assignments, and then waved for Fillmore to join him and Casey. She gave Casey a long look before turning her attention to Dietrich. “The girl didn’t know much,” she said.

Casey couldn’t help automatically correcting her: “Clara.”

The woman frowned at him, but Casey kept his expression blank. He was well aware his default would be to refer to Clara as _the girl_ as well, but Clara wasn’t just any girl—she was his best hope of finding his son. Besides, she’d given them their second bit of usable intel.

“Clara,” the woman repeated with a hard, pissed-off tone, “didn’t add anything to the abduction that we didn’t see on camera or learn from witnesses. She did, though, tell us they drove somewhere she thought was outside the city to get to the building where they were held.” She turned her attention to Casey and said, “I doubt that. Some of the warehouse districts might seem outside the city, though, to someone unfamiliar with them.” She then looked back at Dietrich, “The gi— _Clara_ ,” she shot a look at Casey again, “couldn’t give us any sense of where they went once they got out of her neighborhood.”

“What about the people who took her?” Casey asked, gritting his teeth to keep from reminding her that Clara was six and could hardly be expected to have a map of the greater Chicago area in her head.

“Four men,” Fillmore clipped out. “She identified Ford and Quinnell, described the others we saw on the surveillance recording from the market.”

“No one else?” Casey asked, curious that Ilsa and du Montfort seemed absent.

“No one else.”

“Did you ask if she saw anyone other than the four men where they were held?”

That question earned him a glare from Fillmore. Then it shifted. The woman hadn’t asked, and Casey knew it before she admitted as much.

The rest was an interior description of the building where they were held, and Casey met Dietrich’s gaze as she read Clara’s statement. It wasn’t the building in the drawing Ilsa had given Clara. The only other thing Fillmore added was that they had been kept together.

Dietrich lifted his brows, waited to see if Casey had any other questions, and when he didn’t, dismissed the agent after holding a hand out for her report.

“They’ve been moved,” Casey said when the door closed behind her.

“You don’t know that.”

He nodded at the drawing on the table. “Ilsa sent that with Clara. It’s not the building Clara described. Find the building; find Jack and Ellie.”

“Ilsa?”

“The woman in fur Victoria saw before they were abducted.”

Dietrich grinned. “The one she called Cruella De Vil?”

Casey frowned, not having heard that before. “Probably.”

“So who is this Ilsa?”

This time he sighed. “French spy—du Montfort, too.” He could tell Dietrich was about to ask who du Montfort was, so he explained. Then he explained why they thought Ilsa was there.

Someone brought Clara in as he finished his explanation. She ran to Casey and threw her arms around him. He hugged her awkwardly back while the agent who had accompanied her handed a file to Dietrich. When the agent was gone, Casey sat Clara in a chair and told her, “We have some more questions for you.” He asked if she had seen other people than the four who abducted them and Ilsa and du Montfort.

Clara shook her head, then added, “I heard some others, though.” She explained, and what she reported sounded like the usual goons. None of what she overheard was operationally useful.

When he asked who told her to tell him they wanted her Uncle Chuck and Riah, Clara had bit her lip, turned thoughtful. “That man in charge. He made me repeat the message several times.” Dietrich got her to identify “that man in charge” as Quinnell.

“Was there more to it than what you told me?” Casey asked. He should have asked her when he had the chance and no audience.

She shook her head. “Just that they want Uncle Chuck and Aunt Mariah and will call you tonight.”

Dietrich asked several questions then, tried to get Clara to expand on some of what she had told Fillmore, but he finally concluded there was nothing else to learn. Dietrich then suggested he send Clara to lunch with one of the agents, but she balked, refused to leave Casey. He and Dietrich had things to talk about, and he needed to call Beckman, but he acquiesced. The truth was, he saw Victoria when her face pleaded with him, and Casey hoped that if his daughter had been in this situation, whoever she felt comfortable with would do the same.

Afterward, he parked Clara back in the conference room while he and Dietrich talked in the hallway.

“We haven’t told her father yet,” Dietrich admitted. Casey nodded. The Captain would have been pounding at the gates if they had done so.

“I’ll take her home,” Casey said. “You get your agents to bring him to our place.” He sighed. “Tell him to pack for both of them.”

Calling Beckman was next, so he ducked into an empty office where he could still see Clara and not be overheard to do so. She agreed that Ellie and Jack had probably been moved. “Can you contact Ms. Trinchina?”

Casey mulled over his answer. “Truthfully? Not unless you can provide me with a number.” He’d been very careful not to be able to do so since he’d learned she was still alive, more so since he’d gotten married.

Beckman made a skeptical hum. “I’ll see what we can do.”

He collected Clara, told her they were going to his house where her father would meet them. He decided to park on the street behind theirs, unwilling to take Clara past the press that still camped as close as the FBI and local police would let them. Mrs. Standish, the widow whose property backed onto theirs, came out as he made his way through her yard. She asked how much longer this might go on in such a way he felt like a felon ducking the law, and he admitted he didn’t know but hoped not long. She looked at Clara, frowned, looked at Casey, and he could see the gears turning. Clara’s photograph had probably gone out through the media. Mrs. Standish said nothing, though, went back in her own home.

As he let Clara in the back door, there was a commotion around the front of the house. Casey’s instincts said to leave her in the kitchen and go around the house to see what was causing the ruckus, but Clara looked afraid, so he decided to deliver her to Riah first.

In hindsight, Casey really should have known, really should have guessed what caused the uproar.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was a day without the Internet, so I missed a post. That's means chapters 9 and 10 will both go up tonight.

It didn’t take long to realize the noise was Grandma Jane arriving. Victoria was only a little disappointed, but then she realized Daddy wouldn’t have come home through the front door since none of them had used it since Jack was stolen. There were people watching their house, people Victoria had heard Daddy call vultures—and some other things that weren’t as nice and that she would be in trouble if she repeated them. Aunt Julie and Aunt Dena were there, too, and so was General Patterson.

Victoria never quite knew what to think about General Patterson. Mummy and Daddy liked him, she knew, but he made Daddy mad sometimes, usually about Mummy. Mummy normally got mad when people called her names that a lot of grown women got angry about, but she didn’t seem to mind when the General called her a pretty little girl, which was what he usually called her when he wasn’t talking directly to her. That confused Victoria, too, because while Mummy was pretty, she wasn’t a little girl.

Well, she was kind of short compared to the other women in the family—except for Victoria’s sister Alex, who was actually a few inches shorter than Mummy.

She kind of suspected Mummy would say she wasn’t anybody’s anything. Mummy said she was Daddy’s wife, and she said she was Victoria and Jack’s mum, but otherwise, Mummy liked being her own person. Sometimes General Patterson told Daddy he would be more than happy to take care of Mummy when Daddy was gone, which made Daddy kind of mad. That was confusing because Victoria would have thought Daddy would like that someone he trusted would watch out for them when he wasn’t with them.

Usually, though, General Patterson called Mummy Daddy’s pretty little girl, which Daddy didn’t seem to mind at all.

This general was sort of fun, unlike that redheaded one Daddy worked for. Victoria was really glad _she_ hadn’t decided to come see what was going on because Mummy didn’t like her much, and Victoria didn’t think Mummy needed the kind of stress she obviously felt when the other woman was around, especially with all of her worry about Jack.

It distracted her when Aunt Julie hugged Victoria and asked, “You doing alright?”

Victoria nodded, afraid she might cry if she tried to answer. She was growing more and more worried about Jack, especially since no one had called them. Victoria knew that on TV and in the movies when people were stolen, the people who took them almost always called and demanded something, usually money. She knew Mummy would pay anything to get Jack back, but no one seemed to be asking for anything in return for him.

That bothered Victoria, especially since she’d heard Daddy say many times that he would never negotiate with terrorists, and in Victoria’s head, kidnappers were just another kind of terrorist.

She wondered if anyone had asked to trade Clara and Aunt Ellie for something, but she suspected the grownups wouldn’t tell her if someone had. After all, Mummy had told her again earlier in the day that she wasn’t to talk to anyone about what had happened, and that made it pretty hard to get any information she could use to help Daddy get Jack back alive.

It was really frustrating not to be able to do something that could help. Victoria didn’t like that at all.

After Mummy sorted out who would stay where, Victoria went with Aunt Julie and Aunt Dena to the apartment Mummy had decorated in the basement. Her aunts had chosen that space because they would have some privacy and because they could come and go without disturbing others. That idea worried Victoria because apparently grownups could get stolen, too, and she didn’t want her aunts to get stolen because then they would have even more people to try and get back. Then again, Aunt Julie was Daddy’s sister, so she could probably take care of herself.

Her aunts took their time settling in. Victoria noticed they didn’t unpack a lot. Aunt Julie kept asking a lot of questions about what happened to Jack, and Aunt Dena kept trying to change the subject to something else. It was never easy to get Aunt Julie to change the subject, but Victoria didn’t mind answering her questions. No one seemed to want to talk about Jack or what happened to him, so she kind of liked that Aunt Julie did.

When they went back upstairs, Grandma Jane, who was waiting for them, suggested she and Victoria make cookies. Victoria was happy enough to have something to do, so she followed her grandma to the kitchen. Mummy, she noticed, disappeared into Daddy’s office with General Patterson and Grandpa V. H. Part of her wondered if her mum had arranged this to keep Victoria from being sneaky or trying to get involved.

“How come General Patterson came with you?” she asked her grandma as Victoria rolled the buttery dough into a ball between her palms for the little pecan things Mummy liked. Grandma Jane put bourbon in hers, but Victoria wasn’t about to tell Mummy since her grandma used the drinking stuff instead of the stuff Mummy used to cook.

“Paul’s an old friend,” she said.

Victoria put the ball of dough on a cookie sheet and took another blob to roll into another ball. “Doesn’t he have a family to spend Christmas with?”

Grandma Jane eyed her. “No, Victoria, he doesn’t.”

She thought about that, wondered if Jack would have to spend Christmas without family. “He wears a wedding ring. Doesn’t he have a wife?”

Her grandmother reached for more dough and said, “She passed away long before you were born, and they never had children.”

About to ask if he had brothers and sisters who might have kids, Victoria stopped. General Patterson was kind of old, so his family might have all died, which would be really sad, and no one should be sad or alone at Christmas. Instead, she said, “Then I guess it’s okay if he shares ours.”

Grandma Jane gave her a funny smile and hugged her; Victoria wondered what that was for.

As they rolled baked cookies in powdered sugar, Victoria wondered if Uncle Devon might need to share their family, too.

Eventually, most of the people in the house found their way to the kitchen, which made it really crowded. Grandma Jane put them to work, and she occasionally smacked Aunt Julie’s hand for sneaking cookies. One time Aunt Julie ratted Victoria out, who had filched one or two, too, but Grandma Jane didn’t smack her as she had Julie. She did give Victoria a look that made very clear where Daddy’s hard stare came from.

Mummy looked really tired as she and Grandma Jane quietly talked about dinner. Victoria was tired, too, but she had managed to sleep some the night before. She suspected Mummy hadn’t at all. Mummy often didn’t sleep when she was really, really worried. Daddy once told her they would all get fat because she usually baked all night when she worried. Mummy hadn’t baked the night before, but Victoria had woken up several times to hear her parents talking softly to one another.

She thought about telling Mummy she was tired to trick Mummy into taking a nap with her, but since it was about the time she usually made Jack take a nap, Victoria decided it might be best not to remind her mum that he was gone by asking her to go upstairs with her. She would probably do it if Victoria pretended to be afraid, but her mum would probably only stay with her until she actually went to sleep, which is what Mummy had done when she was little and often did when Jack didn’t really want to take his nap.

Jack got really cranky when he didn’t get his nap, and part of Victoria hoped whoever had stolen him wasn’t making him take one.

Mummy gave her a funny look, so Victoria figured her smile had a kind of meanness to it as she thought that. She schooled her features, tried to make her face blank the way her mum and dad often did when they couldn’t let anyone know what they did or what they knew about some stuff.

That just made Mummy look at her more closely, her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the left just a tiny bit, which made Victoria think her mum suspected she might be up to something. Fortunately, Grandma Ariel asked her a question, so she crossed the kitchen to where Grandma Jane and Grandma Ariel stood talking at the stove.

She knew they were talking about dinner, especially when Mummy began opening cabinets and rooting through them, occasionally removing an item. Victoria watched as she went to the pantry for a few things, and then the refrigerator. She smiled when she realized Mummy was going to make lasagna. Given the vegetables she removed, there would be minestrone and salad as well. She then set about making bread. Mummy’s Italian bread was much better than that from the bakery. Grandma Ariel began to chop onions, and Grandma Jane worked on the garlic and then the tomatoes.

Victoria just hoped Mummy would make homemade pasta for the soup and the lasagna. It was so much better than the kind of rubbery stuff from the box.

She heard Alex tell Uncle Morgan she was tired, and then he ushered her away, presumably upstairs to get a nap. Mummy told her own mum, “She really should have stayed home with the baby so close.”

Frowning, Victoria wondered what that meant.

Grandpa V. H. said, “Her father was worried about her safety, and rightly so.”

That had Victoria frowning even harder as she tried to figure out what he might mean. She knew bad things could happen when babies were born, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t have worried Daddy that much. Then she figured it probably had to do with being afraid Alex might get stolen, too.

Victoria realized then that Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker had disappeared, so she slipped out of the kitchen to see where they might be. She hadn’t heard anyone leave, so she wondered if they were in Daddy’s office doing spy stuff. The office door was closed. When Victoria decided she didn’t need to knock and simply opened it, neither of them were there. They weren’t likely to be anywhere else, so she assumed they had either gone back to Uncle Devon’s or were out looking for Aunt Ellie, Clara, and Jack.

She closed the door, lost in thought about what might be happening outside their house when one of the FBI people stepped off the stairs into the hall where she stood. Victoria didn’t like the look of the man. He was kind of pretty and very neatly dressed, sort of like someone just took him out of an action figure package and hadn’t played with him yet. He was tall, had kind of brownish blond haired, and wore a suit. That alone was enough to raise suspicions for her because the other agents who had been in their house were more casually dressed.

“Who are you?” Victoria demanded, knew she sounded rude but excused it because he didn’t look like he belonged.

“Agent Wentworth.”

He sounded like he didn’t like answering to a kid. It was her house, though, so she decided he had to answer her questions.

“What’s your first name?”

“ _Special_.”

Victoria crossed her arms and gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Special Agent Wentworth,” she said like Daddy would, her voice flat. It didn’t have quite the effect Daddy’s way of saying it would, but the man looked a little more closely at her. “’Special’ is just part of your title,” she added, popped up a brow so he’d know she wasn’t a stupid kid. “What’s your first name?”

“None of your business.”

She had yet to meet an FBI agent since Jack was stolen who refused to tell her who he or she was. In fact, most of them had given her their first name and skipped the formal titles that said what kind of agent they were and their last names. The ones in the house were generally pretty friendly. Victoria wondered why this one was different. “Can I see your credentials?”

That startled him. She wondered if that was because she didn’t ask to see his gun or his badge, which is what most kids tended to ask people who did what he did. Victoria knew that his identification and his badge, both of which would be in the same little wallet thing were called credentials, and she wanted him to know she wasn’t dumb.

At first, the man just stood there, then he cocked his head to the side and gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

She thought he was trying too hard to look relaxed because there was a kind of tightness in his face that made her think he was getting mad. That might have been because Victoria hadn’t given up on finding out what his name was, but she thought it might be something else. She just didn’t know what.

“You ever hear that old saying that kids should be seen and not heard?”

She dropped her arms, and her hands made fists, mainly because she didn’t like the snotty tone of voice he used. “This is my house,” she bit out, “and the only reason you get to be here is because my brother got stolen. You don’t have to be rude.”

He put his hands in his trouser pockets and eyed her. She was kind of used to that reaction from grownups, so she wasn’t afraid. Victoria was pretty sure he was mad, and she was equally sure he thought she ought to be afraid of him. She might have been if he had reached inside his jacket where he would have his gun.

After several long moments, the agent removed his hands from his pockets and once more let them hang at his side. His face went kind of blank. “Why don’t you run along and play?”

“Why?”

The man clearly wanted her to go away, but Victoria couldn’t help but wonder why about that, too. The other agents had mostly stayed near the doors, outside to keep people away, or near enough to where the family were to make sure anyone who got past the others wouldn’t get near her or her parents. It made no sense for him to be where he was.

As she watched him, she began to wonder if he wasn’t really a good guy, especially when she realized that whoever had last been in Daddy’s office hadn’t locked it back. He kept that room locked when he wasn’t using it because there was stuff from his work there. She knew that because once she had decided to use Daddy’s computer and had accidentally called General Beckman, who had been sort of coldly polite about it. She must have yelled at Daddy later because Victoria got one of his Talking To’s about breaking into government equipment and not interrupting his boss while she was at work (she had nearly asked if it would have been okay if she had interrupted that redheaded general at home).

Victoria made a decision right then not to move from Daddy’s office door, except, maybe, to go inside and stay there until someone came who could lock the door and maybe keep that FBI man out.

Before the man could finally answer her, she heard the front door burst open, and he turned to go see what was going on.

 

\----------X----------

 

A distraught Woodcomb was surrounded by a small mob of family and FBI agents when Casey made it to his living room. Clara cried, “Daddy!” and went running. The grownups around Woodcomb parted before her, and then the doctor scooped up his daughter and held her tightly, practically bawling.

Casey wasn’t going to belittle that, suspected he would react similarly if he saw Jack and there were no immediate threats. He was more worried about what the media whores outside might be making of Woodcomb’s visit and what would happen if they tried harder to get closer to the house than they had so far managed.

He did a fast headcount. Alex and Grimes were missing, and so was Victoria. Riah appeared before him almost immediately, but the expression on her face cut deeply. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to figure out how to tell her why he had brought Clara home but not Jack. He decided he wanted privacy for that conversation, if for no other reason than he knew how upset she’d be. He knew she wouldn’t want others to see her distress.

“Where’s Victoria?” he asked to distract her from questions he didn’t really want to answer with an audience.

She shook her head.

He bent and kissed her then told her softly, “Clara was the only one they brought to a meet. They sent a message that they would call tonight about Jack and Ellie.”

That wasn’t exactly true, and he felt guilty for the lie as Riah bit down on her lip then gave a tight little nod. He pulled her closer, rested a cheek on the top of her head and breathed in deeply.

It was obvious the rest of the family had arrived while he’d been gone. He met V. H.’s eyes. The man raised his eyebrows, looked a question but made no accusations. Ariel looked like she was about to launch her windup, but the other man decided to distract her, for which Casey was grateful. His mother rested a hand on his arm and gave him a small smile. Her hand moved to Riah’s back. She said, “Johnny, take Riah upstairs and get her to relax while the rest of us finish dinner.”

Riah pushed away a little then, about to protest.

His mom gave her a gentle smile and said, “Go with Johnny. Let him tell you what he found out.”

Emma stood nearby, her own worry clearly written on her face. He told her, “Woodcomb and Clara are going to stay here. Figure out where to put them—Walker and Bartowski, too.”

He signaled Walker, who put a hand on Bartowski’s arm to get his attention. Casey nodded with his head toward where his office was, and the kid nodded back. Bartowski said something to Clara and Woodcomb. Casey relaxed his hold on Riah, gently told her to come with him. He kept his arm around her as he headed toward his office.

In the hall, he stopped cold, frowned at his daughter who was clearly guarding the office door. “Daddy!” she breathed and rushed him. He dropped his arm from Riah’s waist and moved to scoop his daughter up. Only then did he see a man retreating down the hall.

“Special Agent Wentworth is an asshole,” his daughter whispered in his ear.

He shot a look where the man had disappeared down a back stairway. “What have I told you, Victoria?” he asked, but there was no inflection since his attention was on the stairway. That was not the way she generally voiced her displeasure with people. He noticed his wife hadn’t protested their daughter’s observation, so Casey wondered what had made Victoria say that.

“He wouldn’t tell me his first name or show me his credentials,” Victoria said. “Someone left your office unlocked, and I think he wanted me to go away so he could go in there.”

Setting his daughter on her feet, he shot Riah a look. “Take her in there while I go have a word with Special Agent Wentworth.”

He strode down the hall and then the stairs toward the kitchen, his long legs eating up the distance. He wanted to run because he’d seen the duty roster for Dietrich’s agents, and not one of them had been named Wentworth. His mother turned from where she did something at a cabinet next to his mother-in-law, and he bit out, “Where did the FBI agent go?”

Ariel pointed at the back door. Casey wrenched it open. The man was disappearing through the fence gate, and he decided, as he started to run, that he’d do what he’d suggested when Riah bought the place: have it replaced by more fencing so that going back and forth between their yard and Mrs. Standish’s was considerably more difficult. Maybe electricity would be a good addition, though the woman who owned the house behind theirs was unlikely to agree. After all, it wasn’t very likely Riah would ask her to watch the kids in a pinch after this.

Of course, they might just be about to sell the place given what had happened and given they obviously had their covers blown where the operation was concerned.

Casey picked up speed, hoped to catch the man, but a car screeched to a minimal stop before peeling away as the guy jumped in the back just as Casey reached the sidewalk. He stared at the back of the car, memorized make and model and the plate.

As he headed back to the house, he called Dietrich, told him what had happened and asked him to trace the car that had picked up “Special Agent Wentworth.”

Inside again, his mother raised her brows as he stepped into the kitchen. He shook his head. “If he comes back,” he warned, “call me immediately.”

“You’re going out again?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.” Casey thought about the call Clara had told him would come. “At least I don’t plan to.” He sighed, raked a hand through his hair and studied his mother. “Maybe you should have stayed at home.”

She came forward and hugged him before she kissed his cheek. “I would far rather be here where I can do what I do best.”

Frowning, he was about to ask what that meant, but then he realized—doing just what she was, settling him and his family, seeing they had what they needed.

Before he could say something incredibly girly, Ariel told him, “Go see your wife. Mariah’s been holding things together, but I think she’s reached her limit. She’s tired, she’s upset, and she needs a distraction.”

It was only as he walked away that Casey realized she had said _your wife_ , not _my daughter_.

Inside the office, he found Riah, Victoria, Bartowski and Walker. Given what they were about to discuss, he nearly sent his daughter for V. H., but he decided to hear what she had to say before bringing the other man into this. He was pretty sure how his father-in-law would react when Casey told him Riah was, presumably, the price for Jack’s safe return.

Skipping, for the moment, who had failed to lock the door, Casey looked at Victoria and asked her to tell him about Wentworth. His daughter recited her encounter with the man, including her suspicions that he wanted something inside the room they now occupied. She also gave Casey a pretty detailed description of him before she told him how rude the man was. Riah was trying to bite back a smile, and when he looked at her, she lifted a brow. He got it, got that the man’s behavior sounded remarkably like his when he was annoyed.

Casey considered, then he crossed to the desk. He tossed Walker a scanner and picked up a second one. They efficiently and thoroughly made the sweep. Bartowski took care of the electronics while Riah softly spoke to Victoria so that she didn’t try to help.

While they worked, Casey considered who Wentworth might have been. It was possible he really was an FBI special agent. It was also possible he wasn’t and had somehow managed to slip past the agents on duty. Victoria said he’d refused to show his credentials, but if he’d had them, all he had to do was show them to Casey’s daughter to get her to back down. Had he done so, she likely wouldn’t have been suspicious at all. Instead, Wentworth—if that was really his name—had aroused her curiosity, which made no sense if he’d been there to spy.

They were going to have to search the house, methodically and completely, so he walked to the door, found one of the female agents whose name he knew and asked Kelly to get his father-in-law.

As he closed the door again and turned to face the others, he caught his wife’s gaze. Riah was white-faced. She’d clearly heard what he’d asked Kelly to do, and he wondered what she thought he was going to tell V. H. that made her look so upset.

“We’re going to have to search the house,” he explained. Walker nodded grimly.

“Why?” Victoria asked.

“We don’t know where the man you saw was or what he was doing.” _Or how he got in and what he might have brought with him._ Casey had a mental image of the explosives Clara had worn earlier. “I want to make sure he didn’t leave us any surprises.”

V. H. entered followed by Paul Patterson. Casey quickly told them what needed doing. V. H. said, “I’ll get a couple of the FBI agents to help.”

Patterson nodded at Casey and then crossed to Victoria and Riah. He looked down at Casey’s daughter and said, “I understand you and Jane made cookies this afternoon. Think we could sneak a few and spoil our dinner?”

Casey bit back a grin when Victoria gave the General a hard stare and primly informed him, “Mummy might get mad if we spoil our dinner.”

“Two,” Riah said, and Casey noticed she had to stop a smile to make sure it sounded stern enough to keep Victoria from taking liberties with the ability to eat dessert before dinner. “I think, just this once, you can have two before dinner.” She looked at Patterson then and warned, “ _Only_ two.”

As soon as they were gone, Casey explained what had happened, beginning with interviewing Tori Bates. When he got to the part where he met Clara in the park, he locked his eyes on Riah. Bartowski was going to go ballistic, but Casey was more worried about her reaction.

“You couldn’t wait for the bomb squad?” Clara’s uncle squawked indignantly.

“I could have,” he said, watching his wife, who looked a little like she might faint—not that she was prone to, but he knew she understood what it was like to be in Clara’s position and to feel completely helpless. “Dietrich’s man says if they decided to detonate it, the explosive would have taken out half a block.” The old sarcasm settled in. “What little was left of her—if anything was left of her—could be buried in a pill bottle.”

It went too far, he realized from Riah’s horrified reaction, but it shut Bartowski up. Walker was the one who hissed his name.

He breathed in, looked over at Chuck and said, “I wouldn’t have tried it if it hadn’t been such a simple device, one that was easily disarmed.”

Looking back at his wife, it was easy to see she thought the same thing that had belatedly occurred to him. He was grateful she didn’t voice any doubts and set Bartowski off again. He sighed and decided to get on with the rest of it, the part that was going to cause more than Bartowski to squawk.

Before he could line the words up, though, Chuck asked, “What about Ellie?”

Shaking his head, Casey admitted, “She wasn’t there. I only spoke to her on the phone, and it wasn’t long enough for a trace.” He met Walker’s eyes this time, watched her shift her weight and press her lips grimly together. Since that was her usual preparation for bad news, he figured she knew what was coming.

“Your niece said they would call tonight with the details.” Casey swung his gaze back to his wife already martialing all the reasons he wouldn’t let her do what he was certain she’d insist on doing. “Clara was told to tell me they will trade you and Chuck for Ellie and Jack.”

Riah went even paler than she already was, but it was Bartowski who practically shouted, “Do it! Make the deal!”

Casey rounded on him. Even though he’d known that would be the kid’s reaction, he wondered when the moron would finally learn that wasn’t how the game was played, nor was it a viable option. That wasn’t because it was a package deal with Casey’s wife as part of the prize, either—it was because Bartowski was the Intersect, and that made him government property whether he liked it or not. The decision wasn’t Chuck’s to make; it was the U. S. government’s. Because of Jack, because of what it would do to Riah if something happened to their son, Casey was no happier about it than Bartowski was, less so since he was pretty sure Riah was the real prize Quinnell, at least, was after. “We can’t.”

“Casey,” Chuck wheedled, a habit that still irritated him at the best of times. “We’re talking about Ellie. My sister. We have to do whatever it takes to get her back. Clara needs her! Awesome needs her! _I_ need her!”

He stepped into Bartowski’s personal space. He wanted to make sure the kid didn’t decide to cut his own deal if Quinnell or one of his men contacted him instead of Casey. “We need Jack, but this isn’t the way to get him back alive.”

Chuck’s eyes searched his, his mouth slightly open as the kid’s mind raced. Casey sincerely wished he’d come up with a winnable scenario that would let them act without orders—or ignore the ones he thought Beckman would make any moment: Chuck and Riah in a bunker never to see daylight again. If the kid was lucky, he might be able to have Walker come for conjugal visits, but he’d never see the rest of his family or the Bearded Man Life Partner again.

Casey didn’t want to think about life without his wife, or, as might be likely, his children.

“Make the deal, John,” Riah said quietly. He turned to see she still sat on the sofa. “We’ll have to carefully plan it so that no one is hurt, but it’s not like this is a scenario for which none of us are trained.”

She’d regained some color, and there was determination on her face. About to say an unconditional no, about to tell her there was no way her father would allow it either, he watched her lift her chin. “It began with me, John, and it needs to end here. I’m not sure how Quinnell pieced it all together, but he did. Let’s stop him, destroy this before anyone else has a chance to figure it out as well.”

Walker was the one who asked, “How do you know there won’t be someone else?”

His wife held Casey’s gaze when she answered. “I don’t work for ISI anymore,” she told them softly, “but I . . . freelance a bit of analysis now and then. I agreed to do that on condition that every scrap of information about the Montreal Project was destroyed. I personally saw to it. What still exists, Quinnell has, and it needs to be eradicated as well—Quinnell, too.”

Funny, Casey thought, how that didn’t quite answer the questions he’d begun to have about whether or not she had quietly gone back to work for ISI. From her expression, there was more to this than she was admitting, so he retraced her words. He nearly corrected her, nearly said that it began with Bartowski but she had complicated matters when she was sent to Casey. Then he realized it really had begun with her, that whatever they had done to her had been done before Bartowski accidentally downloaded the prototype of the Intersect as a small child.

“At a guess,” Riah continued, “they want a functioning Intersect, and at a further guess, they want to know why I don’t work. The more they have, the easier it will be to figure out how to make another Chuck and avoid another me.” She sighed, rubbed her palms along the top of her thighs. “When they call, John, make the deal.”

Walker, forever the mediator, stepped in then. “We don’t get to make the decision, Mariah.”

“You can,” she countered. She looked at Walker then. “The only way to get close enough is to make the deal. If worse comes to worse, Quinnell’s people provide bargaining chips for our side.”

Casey snorted. “More than likely, they’ll be expendable, nothing he wants back.”

“He’ll send Bailey Ford.”

Wondering why she sounded so certain, he crossed his arms, lifted a brow.

“It’s his pattern,” she explained. “In Edmonton, he sent one of his top lieutenants, Finley.”

Casey remembered that name from Victoria’s first Christmas and that hellhole in Gaza before that.

“He was likely involved when I was seven,” she continued. “I saw a memorandum in his CSIS file this morning that indicated he’d been disciplined about then over a highly classified incident involving ISI.”

“So we set a trap,” Bartowski said, clearly taking Riah’s side because it was what he wanted to do. Casey gave it some thought. If it had been any other people, he’d have someone on identifying the building in the floorplan and calling in a tactical team. The kid and his wife were perfect bait, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling they wanted all of them, Ellie and Jack included. Clara as well, if they could get her back.

Walker eyed him. “Unless you have a better idea, Casey, Chuck’s right.”

“Make the deal, John.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

Dinner that evening gave Victoria more time to observe the grownups in her life, but most of them were not themselves. Uncle Devon treated Clara like she was younger than Jack, but the other girl didn’t seem to mind. Victoria was annoyed by that, but she supposed he had been worried about Clara while she was stolen. If Clara didn’t mind being treated like a baby, then that was her business. Victoria was just glad her own dad didn’t treat her like one.

Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker kept giving one another looks like they were fighting without words, or at least she thought they were fighting because Uncle Chuck’s eyes would get really wide and his face was exaggeratedly serious while Aunt Walker looked like she was trying to warn him, especially after she caught Victoria watching them. Victoria wondered what was going on. It must have involved whatever had Mummy pushing her food around instead of eating much of it because occasionally Daddy gave them his narrow-eyed, tight-jawed glare that had them suddenly interested in talking to other people about things that weren’t very important—usually to Uncle Morgan who was on the other side of Uncle Chuck. She also knew Daddy was holding Mummy’s hand under the table, which was something he only did when she was really upset.

Her aunt Emma sat on the other side of Mummy, and occasionally they would talk. Since Victoria was next to Daddy, she could hear them talking a little about Christmas, mostly about planning their holiday dinner. Victoria wanted to tell them they had to wait for Jack to come home before they talked about Christmas. She suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore, and Daddy, who noticed, leaned over and told her to finish eating. When she looked up at him, she saw he was unhappy, too, knew it was worry about Mummy and Jack and not that she wasn’t eating, so she scooped some lasagna on her fork and ate it.

For that matter, Alex wasn’t eating much, either, but she occasionally dropped her hand to her stomach and made a funny face, like she felt a little sick. Victoria began to worry that meant she would have the baby soon because that was kind of how Mummy had been just before Jack was born. The baby wasn’t due for another two months, but Victoria knew babies decided to show up early sometimes. She supposed it could just be the baby kicking. She’d felt Jack moving inside Mummy before he was born, and Mummy said it was really uncomfortable sometimes, so maybe that was what made Alex look like that.

Uncle Morgan, though, was the only one who acted normal. Of course, Uncle Morgan’s normal was a little different than most people’s, but at least he never seemed to change. One minute he was like a little kid, all full of enthusiasm and lacking sense, and the next he was a helpful, responsible grownup. Victoria liked that about him, though she knew the kid part made Daddy kind of crazy sometimes.

Even Aunt Julie was quieter than she would normally be, which worried Victoria a little because she normally teased Daddy about everything. This time, she simply talked to people around her, mostly Aunt Dena and Grandma Ariel. Victoria supposed that might be because she didn’t want to upset Mummy. Aunt Julie was always nicer to Mummy than she was to most other people.

Of course, Grandma Ariel would normally poke at Daddy, too, until they were both mad, but it seemed that if her grandmother couldn’t say something nice to him, she had decided to say nothing at all. That could be because Mummy had finally told her to shut up about Daddy, but her grandma Ariel wasn’t exactly good at doing what she was told. Victoria sometimes wondered if her grandma’s own parents had ever punished her as a kid or taught her how to behave.

Grandma Ariel and Aunt Julie had a lot in common, she realized, and Victoria wondered if she ought to be worried about what they might get up to together that would make Mummy more upset than she already was and make Daddy really mad. The only real difference besides age was that Aunt Julie wasn’t mean, though Grandma Ariel could be.

Grandma Jane was the most normal, though. She did what she always did—quietly supplied food, kept the peace when it looked like something might be about to start, and got people talking if they were quiet for too long. She also stopped anything that might make Mummy even sadder than she already was before it got started. Victoria supposed having to deal with Daddy and Aunt Julie, not to mention her other two aunts, Jenn and Jan, must have made her good at getting people to behave and be nice.

General Patterson and Grandpa V. H. sat beside one another and talked. From what little Victoria could hear, it sounded like they were talking mostly about golf and baseball. Grandpa V. H. only had one hand that worked, but that didn’t stop him from doing much of anything, and she knew he played golf. He also had a great love for the Toronto Blue Jays, which Daddy usually gave him grief about since they never did very well—though Grandpa V. H. often reminded him that at least they had won the World Series back-to-back, making it an actual “world” series for a change. Daddy usually looked unimpressed and responded that that was a long time ago.

Victoria wished there weren’t so many people there. Between family and the FBI people, the house felt crowded, and she didn’t like that. That redheaded woman Daddy worked with who talked on TV for them had come back just before dinner. Mummy had invited her to join them, but Victoria was really glad she decided to eat with the FBI people in the kitchen instead of in the big dining room with them. That Forrest lady was kind of crispy, and Victoria thought she might snap if she was got mad enough.

She caught a look between Daddy and Aunt Walker that made her think something was going on they didn’t want anyone else to know. Victoria watched as Aunt Walker leaned toward Uncle Chuck and said something. Mummy had made tiramisu earlier in the day, and Uncle Chuck finished his quickly. Uncle Morgan suggested playing _Call of Duty_ , but Uncle Chuck said he’d have to pass. He suggested maybe Victoria might like to play, but she thought he’d made that suggestion only because he had some reason he couldn’t tell Uncle Morgan why he couldn’t.

Mummy looked kind of horrified, but she didn’t say anything, which made Victoria even more suspicious. Normally, Mummy didn’t like her playing violent games that involved shooting people, even if it was war stuff where the shooting stuff was kind of okay. Victoria knew the games weren’t real, which she’d explained to Mummy once, but Mummy had told her that wasn’t the problem. She didn’t like the idea of Victoria killing people, even fake people. Victoria had been surprised when Daddy agreed with Mummy about that. She’d overheard enough people say Daddy was a killer to know he must have actually killed some people. He was a Marine, though, which was a kind of soldier, and he was spy. She knew from movies she wasn’t supposed to watch that spies killed people. He never talked about it, though, and she wasn’t about to ask.

Daddy didn’t protest, either, but Alex and Grandma Ariel did. Uncle Morgan decided he’d find something else to do. Alex seemed happy about that, so Victoria figured her sister and her husband were going to do something together that only grownups did, probably what Grandpa V. H. still called “unspeakable things,” whatever that was. Victoria was okay with not playing, mainly because she was hoping for a chance to ask Clara some questions about the people who had stolen Jack.

She figured there was still a way she could help get her brother back, and since Clara had been with them, she might know stuff that would help her do that, stuff a grownup would never think to ask. Victoria had overheard part of how Daddy had rescued the other girl, and she wanted to hear the rest of it. She also figured if she was sneaky in the right way, she could find out what Daddy, Uncle Chuck, and Aunt Walker were all up to—because she knew they were up to something. After all, they only did that silent talking thing when they were going to go off and be spies but didn’t want anybody else to know.

That left Mummy, and Victoria wondered how she fit in with whatever was going on. Mummy used to be a spy, but she was retired now. Sometimes, though, she talked to Grandpa V. H. about things, usually stuff he had sent her to look at so her mum could explain to him what was going on. Victoria didn’t understand much of it, but occasionally they would mention a place she’d heard of, like Syria or Iran. Once they talked about some place she’d never heard of, but once she figured out some of the different ways the name she’d heard could be spelled, she was able to look it up and found out it was in Africa.

Mummy never talked to Daddy about those things she did for Grandpa V. H., unless she did it where Victoria and Jack wouldn’t hear, and Victoria had wondered why not since Daddy was still a spy and might need to know some of the stuff Mummy worked on. When her mum and grandfather talked about some project in Montreal, though, she figured Daddy just wasn’t interested in stuff from Canada. After all, he was an American (something Mummy sometimes teased him about by reminding him the term could, technically, cover anyone from the top of Ellesmere Island—which was in Canada—to the Diego Ramirez Islands in South America), and Grandpa V. H. claimed Americans generally weren’t interested in the rest of the world.

Victoria didn’t know if that was really true or not because she was an American, too, and she was kind of interested in other places. They didn’t travel outside the country very often, and when they did it was usually to Canada or to London when Grandma Ariel was there. She liked London okay, but she preferred Ottawa or back home in Maryland.

Daddy had travelled a lot, she knew. He and Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck talked about places they had been before, and sometimes those discussions included Mummy, who had been a lot of places, too. Sometimes Victoria looked them up. Daddy got funny when people talked about Prague, which Victoria didn’t understand, but since that Carina had been being mean once when she said something about Daddy in Prague, Victoria thought he hadn’t had a very good time there. She’d looked at pictures of the city and thought it looked like a pretty place. He didn’t like to talk about Rome much, either, though he seemed more sad than irritated when he had to, and when Victoria asked Uncle Chuck why once, he told her that was where Daddy met that Ilsa.

Ilsa was something else Victoria wanted to ask Clara about because despite what she had heard the grownups say about four men, she was pretty sure that Ilsa and the man who had followed them before everyone was stolen had something to do with all of this.

Clara was going to stay with Uncle Devon in a room on the top floor. Victoria had hoped she’d stay in her room, which had twin beds, so she could ask questions. She supposed she understood why Clara’s dad would want her where he could see her, but it would make finding out what she knew more difficult. Victoria considered how to separate Clara from Uncle Devon for a while.

It turned out to be easier than she thought it would be. Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Chuck, and Aunt Walker went to Daddy’s office with Grandpa V. H. after dinner was cleared away and the kitchen cleaned. Victoria and Clara had been given baths, and Uncle Devon and everyone else settled in to watch television in the living room. They watched basketball (Aunt Julie muttered something about Devon not wanting something that would remind him of Aunt Ellie when Victoria grumbled to her about how boring basketball was). Clara was bored, too, so Victoria asked if she’d like to go play.

Uncle Devon looked like he’d wanted to say no, but he didn’t. Victoria led the way to her room upstairs. As they climbed the stairs, she considered what they could play that would let them talk. Clara said she wanted to play a game, so they looked through the ones Victoria had. She had to explain that Mummy had taken the iPad away, so they would have to play a board game when the other girl suggested something on a computer. When Clara asked, she explained how she had used the iPad to talk to Tori and Karen, and because they had talked about Clara and her mum and Jack getting stolen, Victoria’s mum had taken it away so she wouldn’t do that again.

Clara’s brown eyes were round when Victoria finished. Once more, Victoria wondered if she knew her Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker were spies, and she decided that Clara really didn’t. That meant she couldn’t tell her, and she couldn’t explain that she was spying the way her parents had taught her.

“Why would you do that?” Clara finally asked.

“Because the FBI people and the police didn’t find anything,” Victoria told her with a shrug, “but nobody thinks to ask kids what they saw.”

After she pulled _Sorry!_ from Victoria’s bookcase, Clara held it to her chest, her arms wrapped around it as if she were hugging it. “Your dad asked me a lot of questions.”

“Dads do that,” Victoria said, not sure whether to explain to her what Daddy did for a living or not.

“These weren’t dad questions,” Clara said quietly. “He asked me the same kinds of questions the FBI agents asked.”

Victoria nodded and chewed her lower lip.

“My mom says your dad works for the government.”

That was an opening, Victoria thought, but she still knew she wasn’t supposed to tell people her dad was a spy. “He’s a Marine,” she said instead, since that didn’t exactly seem to be a secret. She wondered if she could safely say he was working with the FBI since he had been when he rescued Clara.

“Then how come he doesn’t wear a uniform?” Clara demanded.

Thinking hard, Victoria tried to figure out an answer. Finally, she just shrugged again. “His job means he doesn’t have to all the time. He does sometimes when we’re at home and he goes to work.”

“How come he works with my uncle Chuck and aunt Sarah?” Clara asked. “They aren’t Marines.”

That was harder to answer because Victoria didn’t know if Clara knew they were spies, too. She just shrugged again.

“Your dad told me to lie to the FBI about Uncle Chuck.”

It sounded like an accusation, like Daddy had asked her to do something bad, but Victoria knew that part of Daddy’s job was to protect Uncle Chuck, so lying had to be a good thing in this case. “What did he ask you to lie about?”

“The men who kidnapped us said he’s the Intersect.”

For a large part of her life, Victoria had heard people say that, though sometimes they said Mummy was the Intersect. She’d asked Daddy a couple of times what that was, but it was one of those things he refused to answer. She asked her mum why that was, and Mummy had told her that if he had answered her, he would have had to tell her a lie and that Daddy didn’t want to lie to her. Whatever it was, it always worried Mummy. Victoria didn’t want to lie to Clara because she needed her to keep talking, so she played dumb. “What’s that?”

Clara gave a big sigh and shook her head before she walked over to the small table and chairs in one corner of Victoria’s room. She put the game on the table and admitted, “I don’t know, but those men who took us think Uncle Chuck and Aunt Mariah got it.”

As she puzzled that out, Victoria watched Clara open the box and take the board out, open it on the tabletop, and then turn to her to ask, “Can I be blue?”

Victoria agreed and crossed over to claim red. They finished setting the game up and started to play. Victoria mostly mulled over what Clara had said and tried to think about what to ask her next. Finally, she settled on, “Why do they think Mummy and Uncle Chuck have it?”

Clara shrugged and made her next move. “I don’t know. They didn’t say. They did say to tell your dad that they would trade Aunt Mariah and Uncle Chuck for us.” She scowled. “Your dad took me from the park, though, and now I don’t know what will happen.”

It was Victoria’s turn to play, but she just stared at Clara. “What do you mean, Daddy took you from the park?”

“Some woman and a couple of men took me to the park by the McDonald’s—the one on the way to the Fullerton stop on the El?—and they left me there to give Uncle Casey a message.” As Victoria watched, she shivered really hard. “They had me wearing something your dad took off, and then he took me to the FBI office.”

“What were you wearing?” she asked, trying to figure out exactly what Daddy had done.

Clara went kind of sick-looking. “They said it was a bomb. Your dad pulled something off it then cut it off and grabbed me.”

Victoria had to work hard not to react to that. She couldn’t quite picture her dad doing something like that. It was like stuff in the movies Uncle Morgan watched that Mummy would be mad if she knew he had let her see, too.

“I’m glad I’m back with my dad,” Clara said, though she looked like she wanted to cry, “but I’m scared for my mom.” Before Victoria could ask, she bit her lip like Aunt Ellie did sometimes and then scrubbed a fist over one eye. “They said if I did something wrong, they would kill my mom.”

That made Victoria feel sick. If Daddy did something that made the bad men hurt Aunt Ellie, none of them would ever forgive him, even if it had made Clara safe. Victoria was more scared now than she had been. “I’m sure Daddy wouldn’t have taken you back if he thought they would really do that.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, though,” Clara said, and she sounded kind of mad and really upset, like she might cry. “I did exactly what they said—your dad’s the one who did what he wasn’t supposed to—so maybe they won’t hurt my mom.”

Then Clara really did start to cry.

Victoria had no idea what to do then. She stared helplessly at Clara and tried to decide whether to go get Uncle Devon or to hug her since Clara’s family hugged each other when someone was upset, but she finally decided to start with getting her some Kleenex. After she brought the box to the table, she moved a chair and sat beside Clara like Mummy usually did when Victoria or Jack cried. She didn’t hug Clara like Mummy would have, but she said, “I’m really sorry, Clara,” and she really meant that even though she was glad Daddy had done what he did.

“Me, too,” Clara gulped and then blew her nose. “I just want my mom back.”

“My dad will get her back, too,” Victoria promised. Clara looked around. Victoria got up and got her waste basket, brought it back over, and watched the other girl drop the used Kleenex inside.

“That’s kind of what the lady said.”

For a second, Victoria held her breath while Clara tried to stop crying. _Lady?_ “What lady?” she asked.

Clara’s voice hitched as she said, “There was a lady there who said she knew Uncle Casey. She said they were old friends. She said your dad would get us all home safely if I gave him something for her. Then she gave me a piece of paper she had written ‘Sugar Bear’ on.”

Victoria screwed her face up in disgust. Who would call her dad that? It was kind of icky, though Daddy was certainly big enough and growly enough to be a grizzly maybe. He wasn’t sweet, though. He was really good to the people he loved, but Victoria didn’t think of him as sweet. Uncle Chuck was sweet. Daddy cared, and he could be really thoughtful, but he was just kind of too, well, _Daddy_ to be sweet. Then she wondered if the woman who called him that might be one of those women who made Mummy really, really mad because they wanted to be Daddy’s girlfriend.

“What did she look like?” Victoria asked. She tried to be like Daddy, tried not to sound like she was mad or happy or anything besides just curious. When he asked questions of other people—except people like Uncle Chuck and Uncle Morgan who seemed to give him a headache when he was trying find out something from them—he was usually kind of polite and acted like he didn’t really care what the answer was.

Clara’s eyes were kind of red, and so was her nose. She shrugged. “Kind of pretty. She had brown hair and was kind of tall.” She screwed her face up a minute like she was trying to remember something difficult. “She talked funny.”

“Funny how?” Victoria asked.

“Like she was from somewhere else.”

A little impatient, because that could just mean she wasn’t from Chicago, Victoria had to take a second so she wouldn’t sound mad or anything. “Like where?”

Clara shrugged. “Not from America.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she thought. “Did you hear her name?”

This time Clara shook her head.

Victoria was pretty sure it was probably that Ilsa woman. “Was she wearing a fur coat?”

Clara nodded.

“Did she say anything else to you?”

“Just that she used to know your dad and to give him the paper.”

Thinking hard again, Victoria considered her next question. Clara might think she was accusing her of something sneaky, but Victoria knew she would have done what she  
was about to ask if it had been her instead of Clara. “Did you look at the paper?”

The other girl shook her head. “Just the name on the outside.”

“Where did they take you after they grabbed you and your mom and Jack?” Victoria asked.

Clara shrugged again. “I got lost after we went on Orchard.” She frowned. “We drove past the store toward the city, but then we got on Fullerton and went to Lake Shore Drive.” She shrugged once more. “The place they took us was big and dark, though, kind of creepy. They were going to put us all in separate places there, but Mom made them let me and Jack stay with her.”

Victoria nodded, hoped she’d keep talking.

“Jack bit one of them first, though.”

She could picture that. Jack had bitten her a couple of times when he was mad.

Clara suddenly looked kind of guilty, and Victoria had a feeling there was something more the other girl was afraid to tell her. She waited, since that’s what Mummy and Daddy often did, and it usually worked. Victoria didn’t do the hard stare and the lifted brow, though. “One of the men hit him for that.”

Now Victoria was really mad. She might have slugged Jack once when he bit her hard enough to make her hand bleed a little bit, but she hadn’t hit him hard enough to really hurt him. Besides, he was her little brother, so it was kind of different.

“He’s okay,” Clara said, “but Mom was really mad because his face is swollen and bruised.”

Okay, it was really different, because Victoria had punched his upper arm—and she hadn’t really hit him very hard at all. Of course, Mummy and Daddy hadn’t seen it that way when she had to explain why Jack was screaming. He hadn’t even had a bruise because she had just wanted to make it hurt enough he would let go of her hand with his teeth.

She’d been careful not to hit him again, though. Mummy had been pretty clear about why she should never hit a younger kid—especially her brother. Mummy was good at making her feel like the other person, and that usually convinced Victoria to take the lesson not to do it again to heart. Her mum didn’t believe in spanking, and so far she hadn’t had to do it because Victoria was careful not to make mistakes more than once.

Still, she thought she would hit the man who had hurt Jack if she could figure out which one he was and get close enough to do it. She knew just where to hit him, too, so it would hurt the most. That was one of the first things she learned about getting away from grownups, particularly men grownups.

Just as she was about to ask her next question, Clara’s dad came in to take her to bed. Victoria hid her frustration. She said goodnight, though, and then thought hard as she put the game away.

She should have asked Clara more about what she’d seen as they took them away. Maybe she saw some stores or something close to where they had ended up that would help them figure out where Jack and Clara’s mom might be. Maybe she could find a way to do that in the morning, she decided when Mummy and Daddy came to put her to bed.

 

\----------X----------

 

V. H. followed them, and as Casey unlocked his office door and let the others go in, he wrapped a hand around Riah’s upper arm to keep her in the hallway with him. He told her father, “Go ahead and start. I need to talk to my wife first.”

Riah kept a small office space of her own off the kitchen. It had been marked a butler’s pantry on the renovation plans, and while she had let them build storage shelves and cabinets where she stored linens, china, crystal, and silver, it was where she also did the household books and tracked her investments at the desk tucked neatly into the counter on the far wall. He put her inside the butler’s pantry and closed the door, flipped the lock. She hugged her arms to her middle. He felt a little guilty since there were no windows, and he knew the anxiety she already felt was worsened by the enclosed space—not to mention an upset husband blocking the door.

“You’re not doing this,” he said quietly but firmly, careful not to sound the least bit mad. “We’ll take Bartowski, but you’re staying out of this.”

“I am doing it, John,” she countered, a slight waver in her voice making him weigh whether she had doubts or whether the claustrophobia was kicking in.

He shook his head. “It’s too great a risk.”

“Unlike Chuck,” she countered, dropping her arms, “I’ve been trained for this. I know what I’m getting into, John, so you’re not excluding me.”

It was a low blow, the reminder that Bartowski still hadn’t had formal training as a spy. Because of the unpredictability of the Intersect, they had been unable to put him through the normal courses at the Farm, so Casey and Walker and a lot of on the job training had had to substitute for that. It wasn’t perfect, but it actually played to a number of Bartowski’s strengths, particularly his ability to creatively improvise.

Before Casey could respond, she added, “There’s always been someone there to save him, sometimes Walker, but often you. I don’t need saving, can do that myself, but you are going to need someone who can take care of Ellie and Jack while you and your team mop up. I promise to get out of your way as soon as they’ve been recovered.”

Grinding his teeth, he hated that she was right about that, but he was irritated that she ignored the fact that she was part of the deal. If she insisted on following through, it was unlikely she’d be in any position to assist. “They want _you_ , Riah,” Casey reminded her. “How do you know they won’t simply incapacitate you and rush you out?”

“I don’t,” she confessed, “but I’m better prepared to deal with that than Chuck is.” She stepped closer to him, her face earnest. “I meant what I said earlier, John. This has to end, and that means destroying anything and anyone connected to the Montreal Project. Quinnell is the final piece.”

“No,” he corrected, “you are, and I refuse to risk you.”

“It isn’t your decision.”

That stopped him. His eyes narrowed. Now was as good a time as ever. “What have you been up to, Riah? Clearly it’s more than just keeping house and watching the kids.”

Her jaw set and her eyes went stormy, but he really didn’t care at the moment that Riah was pissed. Depending on what she had been doing, she endangered them all—and potentially more than a defunct ISI project from her childhood ever had.

“Exactly what I said earlier—some freelance analysis for ISI because it got me what I wanted.”

It was important he held onto his temper. He and Riah, like any couple, fought now and then, but they rarely had a no-holds barred fight, and that was mainly down to the fact that they were both good at stepping back from the precipice. Casey was well aware that this one could escalate into exactly that kind of argument if he didn’t control it.

She must have been aware as well because she decided to elaborate a little. Her voice was hardly conciliatory. “Dave’s retiring at the end of the year from ICOM,” Riah explained. Casey knew Dave was the head of that particular department at ISI. “They’re having a little trouble hiring his replacement, and since he’s been burning off years of untaken vacation, they’ve been shorthanded. Dad’s only sent me the really sensitive stuff Dave would normally handle himself, none of which touches on the United States.”

“Care to share any of that with the class?”

It came out cranky, but he really didn’t care. She was in violation of an agreement that could end their marriage and potentially endangered his own career—not to mention flirted with a treason charge.

“You know I can’t,” she said primly, “though I did suggest Dad should pass on a few things.” Riah eyed him. “I made clear to Dad from the beginning that I would do nothing that would cause divided loyalties. I insisted I wouldn’t do anything that touched on anything you might be involved with or that was about anything happening within the United States or any of its operations. Dad honored that, and so did I.”

If V. H. had acted on any of her suggestions he share, that might explain some intel Beckman had grumbled about having to get from allies the past few months.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Casey started to remind her what she had agreed to, but she beat him to it. “I know this is a very sticky gray area, John, but they needed me, and it’s proven to have what I’ve come to believe is a very important utility. This has to end. This whole Montreal Project is a distraction at best and potentially an international incident at worst. It keeps coming up, and one of these days it might become scarily public in ways that damage Canada and your own government, not to mention our family. It has put our children in jeopardy, and I won’t let it do so any longer.”

“There are ways to do that without risking your life.”

Her smile was bitter. She shook her head sadly. “No, John. I think we have to play out this particular roll of the dice. Quinnell will vanish if Chuck’s the only prize you bring him. He’s not interested in the Intersect: he’s interested in me.”

Casey studied her, and after nearly eight years of marriage, he could tell there was something she wasn’t telling him. “You claim you don’t work, so why would he want you?”

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth and worried at it a moment. Riah was obviously debating whether or not to tell him, and that stung a little. Except for state secrets, she had largely told him everything since they had been married, and more than once she had shared things that would horrify her father if he ever found out. This, though, was as much personal as it was about the job, and Casey didn’t like that she actually considered continuing to conceal what she knew, especially when it affected not only him but Victoria and Jack.

After several long moments, Riah sighed and said, “As I’ve been cleaning ISI’s files of any mention of this, I’ve come across some related documents. They aren’t coded, but they’re surprisingly vague. There was more than a rudimentary Intersect involved, but I’m not entirely sure what, exactly, that more was yet. I need Quinnell’s pieces of the puzzle for that. Until then, we have to assume there’s something deeper, something untapped, and it’s that he’s after.”

Over and over again as the Montreal Project had haunted them, Casey had been told he didn’t know what he’d married. Laurence had made her sound like a human IED, and even the others who followed him had implied that she was more weapon than anything else. He’d never seen the slightest bit of evidence that that could be remotely true. Simply putting it behind her, out of sight out of mind, had never been enough to make any interested parties lose all interest, though. It never went away, was never far from her thoughts or those of the occasional idiots who had gone after her in the early days. After things settled and she quit being a spy, it had mostly returned to the background, only occasionally triggered any interest.

Even Casey recognized it was time to more thoroughly clean the operation than had been done thirty years before. She was also right about her skill set, but that didn’t mean she could carry through, especially since Jack was involved. On the one hand, she performed well under pressure, and he had always marveled at her ability to compartmentalize to get the job done. On the other, that instability always lurked under the surface, took its toll.

Christ, he was going to give in, and he was pretty sure he absolutely shouldn’t. That infernal itch in the back of his head said this would end it all just as she claimed, but it also said it would do so in ways from which none of them could fully recover.

V. H. could stop this. One call to Beckman would stop it. Casey knew, though, that if he took that route, his wife would never forgive him. Doing so would be admitting he was afraid of the outcome, and Riah would see it as he didn’t trust her after all. He also knew that neither V. H. nor Beckman would stop it since each had something to gain by pulling the final plug on the Montreal Project. There was also Jack to consider. Riah was right that she would be the one person on the operation who could make their son her priority—after the threat to her had been dealt with. Casey knew she would trust him to get Quinnell and get what she needed.

“You stop working for ISI when this is done.”

Her sad smile and soundless little snort told him she recognized that as a question rather than an order. He’d phrased it carefully, dropped the _will_ because to issue an order made it far more likely she’d insist harder, play dirty to get her way. She nodded. “I’m finished with the spy business the second it finishes with me and mine.”

His eyes narrowed. Casey could hear seven kinds of out in that sentence, but he decided to take it at face value. “Okay.”

Riah stood a little straighter and gave a firm nod.

Drawing in a deep breath, he studied her. Agreement made, she looked calmer than she had since Jack was taken, but he could still read the worry and the fear in her eyes. Casey worried that those might override her training when this went down, that Riah might be walking into something she really couldn’t handle, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the responsibility for allowing her to take the risk.

It would be the coward’s way out, he supposed, to remind her that Victoria needed her as well, but he knew his wife well enough to know that Riah would remind him their daughter was surrounded by family who would make sure she was alright. He’d never been above emotionally manipulating Bartowski, but he’d never really done it to his wife—and he wasn’t going to start now.

“My rules,” he warned, “and you follow them. You’re just part of the team for this, understood?” Riah nodded and stepped closer. Casey wrapped his arms around her and admitted, “I really don’t want you to do this.”

She reached up and pulled him down to kiss him. “And I love you for letting me anyway.”

Apparently, Riah wasn’t above manipulating him, he thought as he let her do so.

They went upstairs to put their daughter to bed after stopping by his office to tell the others they’d join them when they’d done that. Victoria was unusually subdued, so Casey wondered what she was plotting now. As they tucked her in, he told her as he had done the night before, “Don’t.”

She grimaced but nodded. He hoped she’d obey this time.

Forrest was in the hallway as they walked off the stairs and headed back to Casey’s office. The woman looked like she always did, blank face with a hint of arrogance. She was good at what she did, but even Casey held a slight grudge over the whole 49b thing with Walker.

“Colonel,” she said.

“Forrest,” he returned, and Riah’s hand tightened a little on his. From the way her hand had kind of twitched, he had a feeling she was a little intimidated by the other woman, which surprised him. It also made him wonder if there had been an incident between the two he should know about.

“Perimeter’s secure,” she informed him, but he knew that or he’d have already heard otherwise. “I checked into Wentworth. He doesn’t exist.”

Watching Forrest shift uneasily, as if she were somehow at fault for this, made Casey wonder if he’d ever been that way. Forrest was damn good at her job, but she seemed to only be the job. He wondered if her psych evals had ever said she needed a life outside of work. Then he realized he might be making assumptions based on those parts of himself he recognized in her. He knew very little about the woman except her record and what he’d picked up in their two encounters—the 49b and this job.

Still, it was tempting to point out Wentworth did exist since Casey and Victoria had both seen him, but instead he simply asked, “Did the FBI trace the car?”

“Stolen plate.”

He nodded, not really surprised, though he briefly thought Bridges and his men were learning.

There was something expectant in the agent’s stance. Casey figured she expected to be informed of any operation they might undertake. Since he wasn’t cleared to run it, didn’t know where it would be executed yet, he asked, “Where are you staying?”

“General Beckman put me up in an area hotel,” she said, “but I’ve got the night watch here tonight. The General is sending another agent, Landers, for the day.”

Loren Landers was a good man, so Casey nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning, then, unless something comes up.”

Forrest nodded and turned to walk away.

Riah’s hand relaxed in his once more as they watched the other woman disappear into the living room. He wondered if Forrest knew who was on the other side of the door next to which he and Riah stood and that they were going to plan an operation when Casey and his wife joined them. He decided Forrest would have asked to be cut in if she had. He dropped a kiss on Riah’s mouth, and then they entered his office.

V. H. had broken out the scotch, he saw, though only his father-in-law was drinking it. Bartowski prowled the room, burning off some of that ever-present nervous energy of his, and Walker waited in a chair near Casey’s desk. Keeping Riah’s hand in his, he walked her to the desk and sat her in his chair. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out the floorplan Clara had brought him.

Riah grimaced at the name written on the outside, but she said nothing. She unfolded it and studied it. After several moments, she said, “I know this building.”

Casey focused on her, frowned, wondered how.

“Mum would be able to tell you where it is,” she told him as she met his eyes.

“How?”

“I went there once with my grandfather—her father—when I was young. I remember it because of that weird little addition with the asterisk halls. It was a factory, and that was where the offices were.” She looked at him. “I think my grandfather might have owned it.”

By then V. H. was standing behind her looking at the floorplan, and Walker and Bartowski were to the side. Bartowski had a flash. “It’s in Northbrook.”

“Near Deerfield,” Riah added. “I remember now.” She waved a hand at Casey’s computer. “May I?”

He gave the others a look that told them to move, and reached around his wife to log in. She went immediately to village records for Northbrook, and after several moments, managed to find an address for the building and a name for its owner: Win Bridges. Casey leaned down and gave her a soft kiss below her ear. “You’re explaining how Ilsa gave you that later,” she warned softly.

Smiling, he kissed her temple and straightened. He was completely innocent there, after all. He pulled the chair back and took her hand, helped her stand and took her seat. He called Beckman.

Careful not to tell his boss he had dealt Riah in, he ran down what they knew and what he wanted. He got his tactical team and the equipment he needed, and once she had disconnected, he sat down to strategize with Walker, V. H. and Riah. Bartowski occasionally contributed, but this was not his particular forte, so the younger man mostly listened for once. That was probably because Casey wasn’t telling him he couldn’t be involved.

Riah took the drawing and pointed to the end of one of the wedges in the oddly shaped addition. “I’d look here. If I remember correctly, it was the manager’s office, so the largest space, and there’s a bathroom within it. Everything Ellie and Jack would need would be in that one space without the risk of moving them back and forth.”

“Why would taking them to a bathroom pose a risk?” Bartowski asked, and Casey noticed everyone gave him some form of the Moron look. “Escape. Right.”

“There’s a lot of wasted space in this part of the building,” she said, then clarified by adding, “because of the design angles,” when it had been obvious Bartowski was going to ask how. “You’ll need to see the actual blueprints to know what you’re really getting into.”

“I can do that,” and Bartowski sat down at the computer and went to work, which left the people who understood logistics to plan. Casey relaxed a little with the kid otherwise occupied.

“There’s no way to get the element of surprise,” Walker observed as she studied the drawing Clara had given Casey.

V. H. offered, “Then it’s probably better to have the kind of numbers that mean you can just bulldoze your way through.” He offered an ISI team as support. Casey hesitated, but then he decided to accept, if for no other reason than if he had to contain anything Riah discovered, then having people there whose secrets might be exposed could assist in making sure no one else got them.

It was operationally a nightmare, Casey conceded, but they would have to make it work.

“Of course, we need to know they’re still there,” Riah said, and for a second Casey wondered what she meant.

That’s when Casey realized it was edging on eleven p.m. and there had been no call.


	11. Chapter 11

 

Every little bit, Victoria would suddenly come awake. At first, she thought it might be nightmares, but she almost always remembered those, so she immediately ruled that out since she wasn’t afraid when she jerked awake each time. She finally decided it must be because there were so many people in the house, so there were unusual noises because of that.

Of course, it probably didn’t help that Jack was still gone, and she was still worried about him.

It would have been nice if Clara had slept in her room so she had someone to talk to when she woke, but she supposed it was probably better if Clara was with her dad so he wouldn’t worry about her. It also meant he’d be there to deal with things if she had bad dreams about being stolen because Victoria might say something wrong that would only upset her worse.

On the other hand, Clara blamed Daddy for stealing her back from the bad people. Victoria understood she was worried about her mum, but she didn’t get why Clara couldn’t see that it was good she was safe now. That meant, for Victoria at least, stealing Clara back from the bad guys was a good thing. She couldn’t figure out why Clara couldn’t understand that, especially since she had to know Daddy was one of the good guys. Victoria supposed if it had been her own mum who had been stolen, she might feel the same way, although Daddy would do everything he could to get Mummy back. She hadn’t noticed that Uncle Devon did much to get Aunt Ellie back, but then he hadn’t been around most of the time since they were all stolen, so there might be stuff she didn’t know.

Victoria looked at the clock next to her bed and wondered if Mummy and Daddy had gone to bed yet and if they would mind if she slept with them.

Not that she was scared or anything.

After all, the house was full of family as well as Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker, not to mention the FBI people.

That made her remember Special Agent Wentworth. Victoria thought more about him, wondered if he had been a spy or a real FBI agent who just happened to be a real jerk. Daddy had gone after the man, but he never said whether he caught him or if the man was a good guy or a bad one.

Victoria rolled over and stared at one of the dark corners on the far side of her room. She was pretty sure Wentworth was a bad guy, so she wondered what he’d been after. He hadn’t stolen anyone since no one was missing, and he hadn’t been able to get in Daddy’s office, so she had no idea why he’d been there—unless he’d been trying to see how well guarded they were. That meant they might be trying to steal Clara back, or maybe they wanted someone else this time.

Sleepily, she wondered if Jack was having tantrums over Woobie, and the man had come to look for her brother’s favorite toy so he would shut up.

That thought jerked her more fully awake. Her heart raced a little, and she suddenly felt like she had to go see. She hadn’t seen Woobie in Wentworth’s hands, and the stuffed dog was too big to stick under a jacket or in a pocket without it being seen.

Slipping out of her bed, she grabbed her robe since it was kind of cold, but she didn’t bother to put her slippers on before she raced down the hall to Jack’s room.

Mummy had let her choose the color of her room and the furniture, but Jack was too little, so Mummy had picked that stuff for him. Daddy had teased her for not picking blue, but Jack liked the dark green she’d painted the room. So did Victoria. She relaxed a little as she saw Woobie on top of Jack’s brown bedspread. She was about to pick it up, take him back to her room, but she heard Daddy’s voice.

Slipping out of Jack’s room, she eased her way toward her parents’ bedroom. The door was ajar, so she peeked in. Daddy was dressed in black, and he was putting on that thick vest with the tall collar he sometimes wore when he went to work and someone might shoot him. What surprised her, though, was that Mummy was also dressed in black and holding a vest like Daddy’s.

“I’ll get you a different vest,” Daddy grumbled.

“This one fits,” Mummy replied.

“It also says ISI in giant letters on the back, which just makes it easier for them to target you.” Daddy sounded really grumpy about that, so Victoria wondered if that was because Mummy was apparently going to wear something that said she worked for ISI or if it was because he didn’t think Mummy should go to work with him—because the only reason Victoria could think of that explained why her mother was dressed that way was if she was going to work with Daddy.

Victoria didn’t think Mummy should go. It was bad enough something could happen to Daddy, but if something terrible happened to both her parents, not only might she never see Jack again, but she’d be an orphan. She didn’t want to be an orphan because she didn’t know who would wind up with her, and some of the possibilities were not that good, so she shoved the door fully open. “Mummy, you can’t go.”

When he whirled to face her, there was a quickly masked look on Daddy’s face that rapidly went from surprise to slight irritation to amusement to the blank face that meant he was hiding what he really thought. Daddy did that a lot, but Victoria couldn’t help thinking he agreed with her but didn’t want Mummy to know.

Mummy looked kind of mad, which she didn’t try to hide at all. She answered before Daddy could, though, and in a firm voice Victoria knew not to argue with: “I can Victoria, and I have to.”

Victoria looked at Daddy because she was pretty sure he didn’t think Mummy should go, either, despite not saying so. He said nothing, but he didn’t look very happy. Obviously, Daddy wasn’t going to argue with Mummy about this. Sometimes, Victoria thought, her parents really ought to fight like normal parents. Then Daddy could tell Mummy she had to stay home with Victoria, maybe forbid her like some of her friends’ dads did.

“You can’t go,” Victoria insisted firmly, turning back to her mother. If Daddy wasn’t going to say it, then she would. “There will be nobody to take care of me if you go and they steal you like they stole Jack.”

“No one’s stealing your mom,” Daddy told her gruffly.

“What if they steal you, too?” she demanded.

That amused him. She could see it in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. It was also in his voice. “No one’s stealing me, either.”

She crossed her arms and met her dad’s gaze with her own version of his hard stare. “Then I want to go, too.”

“You can’t,” her mum told her firmly.

Victoria kept her eyes on Daddy because she knew he could overrule Mummy, so she sought a way to convince him she would be okay if they took her. She finally settled on, “I’ve got a gun, too, and you know I can hit a target.” Okay, her gun was at home in Maryland, but the point was still a good one.

“And we’ll be discussing that when your father and I get back home,” Mummy said. It wasn’t hard to hear that Mummy knew about Victoria’s Beretta, and it really wasn’t hard to figure out she wasn’t very happy about it.

“You can hit a target, Victoria,” her dad agreed, not bothering to try and distract Mummy like he did sometimes when he didn’t want to talk about things or didn’t want her to get any madder than she already was, “but these won’t be paper targets—and they’ll be shooting back. You stay here.”

“John,” her mum warned softly. Victoria was encouraged that this time she didn’t sound angry. She did, though, wonder what Mummy thought she had to warn him about.

Daddy looked at Mummy. His shoulders dropped before he looked back at Victoria. “It’s dangerous, kiddo, and I have enough to worry about with your mother and Jack.” He walked over and picked her up, looked in her eyes. “Besides, you’ve done a good job of protecting the house, so I need you to stay here and help your grandfather make sure everyone here stays safe. Can you do that for me?”

She searched his face to see if he was just saying that or if he meant it. It appeared he meant it. She could tell he was kind of worried, and that decided her. “Okay.”

Daddy kissed her forehead and set her back on her feet with a, “That’s my girl.”

By then Mummy had put on her vest, and Victoria stared at her. She realized she had never really thought Mummy was the same kind of spy as Daddy before. Usually, her mother just read stuff Grandpa V. H. sent her and then wrote reports she sent back to him. Other times she called Grandpa to talk to him about what he’d sent her, but she didn’t pack a suitcase and leave, nor did she come home dressed in black and wearing a bulletproof vest like Daddy did sometimes. Mummy had always stayed home with them, and Victoria had never seen her wearing what Daddy often called _gear_ before.

Uncle Chuck and Aunt Walker knocked softly on the open door, and when Victoria turned, she saw they were dressed like Mummy and Daddy. Uncle Chuck looked surprised to see her, but Aunt Walker frowned at her.

“Hey!” Uncle Chuck said to Victoria. “What are you doing up?”

Victoria was sorely tempted to say something like what Daddy would say to him, but she didn’t want to make anyone mad or get a Talking To about the right way to talk to grownups. She shrugged and said nothing.

The grownups shared a few pointed looks, and then Uncle Chuck gave her a funny smile and asked, “Take care of Clara and Devon for us, okay?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that unless someone was going to give her a gun, she wasn’t going to be much use if someone tried to steal them, but that would definitely get her a Talking To about being rude from Daddy and would also upset Mummy. So she said, “I think that’s what the FBI is supposed to do.”

Daddy snorted, one of the ones she thought meant _good luck with that_.

“Move out, kiddo,” Daddy said, and he put a hand on Victoria’s shoulder before leading the way to his office.

When they got there, Grandpa V. H. sat at Daddy’s desk and talked on the phone. Daddy’s friend, Agent Dietrich, was there, too, dressed like the rest of them in black with a bulletproof vest, except his said FBI on the back. Agent Forrest was there, but she wasn’t wearing gear, so Victoria figured she must be staying with them.

She’d rather have Mummy stay and Agent Forrest go.

Grandpa V. H. hung up the phone and stared thoughtfully a minute at Victoria before asking Mummy, “Are you sure we can’t talk you out of this?”

“I’m going, and no one’s going to stop me.”

The sound of Mummy’s voice said not to even try and argue. Grandpa V. H. must have known it, too, because he breathed in and rubbed his good hand over his face before he sat back in Daddy’s chair. Victoria’s worry shifted focus a moment because he looked really tired all of a sudden, and she’d never seen him look that way before. “One of ISI’s anti-terrorist teams landed half an hour ago,” he finally said, and Victoria noticed he directed that at Daddy. “They’ll meet you at the rendezvous site.”

“Which team?” Mummy asked as she crossed to the gun safe.

Grandpa V. H. looked a little uncomfortable as he met Daddy’s eyes. “Mick Faraday’s.”

Daddy looked really mad then, but Mummy just went really, really pale. “Dad,” Mummy said, and it sounded like she was really angry.

Holding up his good hand, Grandpa V. H. said, “Faraday’s team is our best, and they were between assignments. It’s too late to substitute.”

Victoria wasn’t sure what Daddy muttered, but she was pretty sure there were bad words in there, maybe something about getting Mummy killed. Not liking the sound of that, she narrowed her eyes, stared thoughtfully at him. She wondered why Daddy was so mad, but she had a feeling it as because of whoever that Mick Faraday was and that bit about getting Mummy killed, which made Victoria wonder if that man had tried to get Mummy killed before. Turning her gaze to her mum, it was obvious she didn’t like this either.

Since her grandpa got whoever Faraday was to help, she finally decided he surely must be okay. Grandpa V. H. would never let someone hurt Mummy, Victoria knew, so she wondered why Daddy didn’t like the man. She looked at Uncle Chuck then, who looked like he was trying to hide something. Only Aunt Walker and Dietrich looked like they didn’t know what was going on.

Mummy opened the gun safe and took out two Glocks and several magazines. As Victoria watched, she checked to make sure the magazines were full and that the Glocks were loaded. She stuck the guns in holsters, one on her hip and one on her chest just below the small, white letters that read ISI and stuffed the magazines in her pockets. Victoria noticed her motions were what Daddy called economical, which told her Mummy had done this many times before.

She tried to remember if she’d ever seen Mummy handle a gun as though she might actually use it, but Victoria couldn’t recall a single instance. Daddy, yes, and not just at the gun range.

It was weird to think her mum might shoot a gun, even weirder that she might shoot a person, especially since Mummy had made her views on guns pretty clear. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them at all, Victoria knew, it was more she thought there ought to be limits—for civilians, anyway. Daddy always said that was because Mummy was a Communist, but Grandpa V. H. had once told her that Canada didn’t have a Second Amendment right like the U. S. did, and that made gun ownership a little more complex. Besides, Victoria tended to think of Mummy as . . . Mummy. She took care of them, cleaned the house, washed their clothes, and just generally did want normal mummies did all the time. Having Mummy take guns with her was very definitely not normal.

Now Victoria wished she had stayed in her bed when she woke up that last time because she didn’t like this at all, didn’t like that Mummy was going to go with Daddy, Uncle Chuck, and Aunt Walker. Daddy had been hurt a few times when he went with Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck, so she was worried that Mummy, who didn’t usually do this, might get really hurt.

Her breath froze. Mummy could die.

“No,” she said, and she went over and took Mummy’s wrist. “You can’t go. Let Daddy bring Jack home,” she pleaded.

Mummy looked almost as upset as Victoria felt when she twisted her arm gently so that Victoria’s grip on her wrist loosened and freed her arm. She shot a look, presumably at Daddy, before she bent and told Victoria softly, “Your father will be very busy, and someone has to take care of Jack.”

“Aunt Ellie can do that,” Victoria objected. After all, Aunt Ellie had been stolen, too, so it seemed reasonable that she was still with Jack. Besides, Aunt Ellie was not only a mum, she was a doctor.

“Aunt Ellie may need to be taken care of as well,” Mummy said. Her mouth compressed into a straight line, and her eyes bored into Victoria’s. She got the impression that Mummy was trying to decide how much it was safe to tell her. “I need you to not object, Victoria,” Mummy finally said. “There are a lot of reasons I have to go, so you will simply have to accept that I am going.”

“I don’t want you to,” Victoria whispered, and she was afraid she was about to cry. “What if something happens to you and Daddy? What happens to me and Jack then?”

As soon as she had said it, Victoria wished she could call it back. Mummy looked awful, like she might be sick. “If something happens—though I don’t believe anything serious will—then you’ll be taken care of, Victoria.”

“How?” she asked.

“There are many people who love you,” Mummy said, “so you’ll always have someone with you who will do what’s best for you.”

About to tell her that wasn’t an answer, or at least not a specific answer and certainly not the right answer, Grandpa V. H. reached down and took her hand. “Come with me, Victoria. We’ve got to make plans for our part of this.”

 

\----------X----------

 

It would have been very easy to seize on Victoria’s sudden fear as a reason to force Riah to stay home, but Casey didn’t do so. For one, his wife would never forgive him, and for another, the message that had finally come half an hour earlier had been explicit: Quinnell wanted Riah and Bartowski both. Turning up with only one meant they’d kill Jack and Ellie—assuming the rescue mission failed and they had to go with Plan B and pretend to turn them over.

Of course, Casey had no intention of playing by the rules, which was why at two a.m. they were gearing up and heading out. The exchange was scheduled for the next evening, rush hour in a public place, but Casey didn’t trust Quinnell to play by the rules, either. They had Dietrich’s reconnaissance, an address, floorplans, and enough men, women, and weapons to exterminate a sizeable force. Surprise would be on their side, which would make it much more likely they succeeded.

Casey might agree with Victoria that Riah should remain safe at home, but he knew his wife would simply find some other way to take part, which meant it was probably better if she was where he could keep an eye on her and minimize any risk.

Faraday—and Casey still didn’t accept the man was completely innocent in Riah’s shooting regardless of what she and an ISI tribunal thought—would probably have let her join his team if Casey had insisted she stay home. The man had finally found some respect for Casey’s wife, something he’d like to know a little more about. He doubted it was simply the fact that Riah had figured out he wasn’t the man who had shot her on that training ground all those years ago and had pushed ISI for the man’s acquittal, which once more raised questions for him about what his wife might have been doing for her former employer.

Thinking about that long-ago day when she almost bled to death made Casey feel a little lightheaded. He didn’t want to have to live through a repeat, let alone a reasonable facsimile of a hostage rescue gone wrong, especially if it ended with Riah taking a bullet. He had a feeling Quinnell’s men wouldn’t miss and definitely wouldn’t shoot to maim.

There were other matters to consider as well. Bartowski wasn’t very good at these situations, but with Ellie involved, there was no way he’d sit it out, either. Walker would have Chuck’s back—Casey’s, too—but Bartowski remained a wild card in the field. He looked around at the rest of the men and women in the unmarked transport Dietrich had provided and hoped none of them were on Quinnell’s or Bridges’ payrolls.

Seated beside him, Riah breathed a little unevenly. He slid a sideways glance her way, studied her pale face. Her eyes were focused either on the floor of the vehicle or the boots of the kid opposite her. It was hard to tell which. Generally speaking, when she had a goal in front of her, she didn’t doubt or hesitate, but now she seemed to be doing both. He considered the variables, settled on what he was certain troubled her.

Leaning toward her, Casey dropped his voice so no one else would hear. “She was scared.”

Riah screwed her eyes tightly shut a second and took a couple of measured breaths.

“She doesn’t know what you’re capable of,” he added, but that didn’t seem to reassure her, either.

“Maybe I should have stayed,” Riah said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear her despite her closeness.

Not giving a single damn what anyone else thought, Casey bent a little further and kissed her. “Too late now,” he teased, “but we might be able to get you a cab at the next intersection.”

She gave him that look, the one that said he wasn’t remotely funny, and that encouraged him. It meant she was pulling it back together.

As a result, he admitted, “I don’t like leaving her, either.” He dropped another kiss on her parted lips. “I never like leaving any of you.”

“I know,” she whispered. He heard her swallow. “There’s something I should tell you—prepare you for.”

He shot his brows up, wondered what. From her expression, she wasn’t about to confess she loved him, which would have been her normal reaction to what he had just admitted, and a part of him wished it could be something just that simple. He didn’t like her obvious anxiety, so he steeled himself, cautiously nodded.

“I talked to Clara,” she told him, and agony swam in her eyes. “She said one of the men hit Jack, hurt him. Her description matched Bailey Ford.”

Casey’s first thought was _dead man_. His second was the one he voiced, if forcing words through tightly gritted teeth counted: “Hurt him how?”

“Bruised face.”

 _Really dead man_. That meant the bastard probably punched his son, and Casey decided he’d make the man writhe in agony, maybe break a bone or five. What sort of asshole punched a two-year-old in the face?

“Remember, John, you need Ford alive.”

“But not in one piece,” he muttered.

Riah leaned into him, and when she said nothing further, not even to offer a rebuke, he hooked an arm around her. This time, she kissed him. Casey was surprised to realize that something he normally found comforting simply wasn’t.

 

When they reached the rendezvous point, they found ISI’s anti-terrorist team waiting for them. It was easy to pick out which one was Faraday, even if Casey hadn’t scrutinized the man’s file after the disastrous training mission where Riah had nearly been killed. Casey wasn’t feeling charitable, and he really didn’t like the look of the man leaning against a low wall cleared of snow at the edge of the otherwise empty parking lot. There was a sort of superior expression on his face that Casey itched to knock off him.

Faraday eyed Riah and said, “And here I heard you married your Yank and let him turn you into a little housewife, Adderly.” The man ran his eyes over Riah before grinning and adding, “Retirement seems to be treating you well.”

The back of Riah’s hand smacked into and then pressed against Casey’s chest when he took a step forward, hands fisted. She gave him a warning look before shooting a cranky one at the Canadian. “Casey,” Riah bit, “and for this particular operation, I’m coming out of retirement.”

“Old habits, Adderly,” the other man said cheerfully, though there was a deliberate slight emphasis on Riah’s maiden name. He quickly introduced his team, and Casey grudgingly did the same before Dietrich did the honors for the FBI. Dietrich then spread floorplans of the former factory where Jack and Ellie were being held on the top of the low wall Faraday had leaned against while Casey started running them all through the plan they’d formulated. Dietrich filled in what they’d learned about the number of men Quinnell had on site and the types of weaponry they’d face.

The ISI and FBI teams would mostly be used to secure the perimeter. Casey had been adamant about having his own men inside, and when both V. H. and Dietrich questioned that, he’d curtly told them, “No miscommunication.” The other two men had given in reluctantly. His team would be the one to enter the building, neutralize whichever of Quinnell’s men were inside, and extract Jack and Ellie.

Casey hoped like hell Bailey Ford was there so there might be an opportunity to make sure he paid for whatever damage he’d done to Jack.

Of course, he had to get to Ford first.

After all, Bartowski would insist Casey couldn’t mistreat a prisoner. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes thinking about it, and he wondered if he could pawn Chuck off on one of the other two men so he wouldn’t be there to act as Casey’s conscience. One look at the kid, though, told him he would refuse, would insist on being there to liberate Ellie.

Casey really couldn’t blame him for that.

They were close enough to move in on foot, though the ISI and FBI teams rode to drop off points. It was damned cold, and when Casey noticed Bartowski’s shiver, he wondered if the kid hadn’t been smart enough to dress in warm layers or if his blood was thin from most of a lifetime spent in southern California. Walker looked only slightly less miserable. Riah, though, seemed in her element, but then she loved cold weather and snow. Since he’d watched her dress, he knew she was unlikely to freeze to death in the time it would take to make their way to the former factory.

While he waited for word from Dietrich, Casey gave a few last minute instructions, and when the FBI agent let him know the outer perimeter had been secured, they moved out.

By the time they closed in on the building, he had Dietrich in his ear reporting how many men they knew were inside with the caveat that they couldn’t be certain that was all. Faraday’s team were working on getting a camera inside through a skylight above the area where the hallways in the addition intersected.

Casey knew entering the addition would be the most dangerous part of the operation. The main part of the building was empty, and while that would make those who crossed it vulnerable, it was those intersecting hallways that would provide the real danger. They could be easily seen as they entered them, there was a warren of rooms on each of those halls, and each room would have to be systematically cleared. If there was good news, then it was that there were several exits that would provide entry for his team, but even that was a vulnerability.

This could go wrong in very bad ways. One bad bit of information, one miscalculation, and they were all screwed.

He went over it all in his head again, knew they had accounted for the variables and had a high probability for success. It was that small margin for error that troubled him. He shot a look at his wife and found himself in sudden sympathy with their daughter once more—Riah really should have stayed home. If this went wrong, if something happened to Jack, it would absolutely kill her.

Casey shoved down what it might do to him, especially if anything happened to his wife.

In fours, they each took an entrance—exit, really, since the intent had been to provide emergency exits rather than a way to enter the building. As a result, there were no door handles, and as Casey eyed the smooth security door, he noticed there was still a lock. A short conversation later, and Dietrich said in his ear, “There’s a central electronic lock. One of the ISI team is headed inside to open it.”

The operative reported no one appeared to be inside, and a soft click followed a few minutes later. Getting the doors open involved a bit ingenuity without handles or someone pushing them open from inside, but they managed. Casey sent two men ahead and waited with Riah. The other two took the right hand side of the hall while he and Riah took the left. He’d chosen that side because it meant the first place they would look would be the office Riah thought was most likely the one where Jack and Ellie were being held. Unfortunately, it was completely empty, didn’t even hold old furniture.

They cleared each room along the stretch of hallway, all of which were empty. As they neared the intersection, Casey felt his temper rise. Either the intel had been bad—despite the fact the cuffed assholes on their way to the FBI field office said it hadn’t been—or Quinell knew they were coming and left a skeleton crew to buy time while he moved Jack and Ellie.

Just as he was about to ask for a report from the others, sounds of a scuffle came from one of the other hallways. He moved forward quickly, Riah right behind him, and demanded a report.

At the end of the hall, he took a careful look down the others, identified where the problem was, and signaled those not involved to divide and work their way there.

He was sorely tempted to ask Riah to remain where she was, watch their backs, but one look at her determined face told him he’d only delay the inevitable if he tried to insist. Casey was well aware he would lose that argument and waste time doing so, so he let it go.

As the others moved out ahead of them, he held Riah back. “No risks,” he told her softly. She gave him a grim nod and lifted her assault rifle before they headed after the others.

It looked like Riah was right, that they had holed up in one of the executive offices, though not the one she thought they would probably use. The men massed outside the first door and waited for Casey. He knew the others were doing the same on the other hallway. In his head, Casey recalled and reviewed the floorplan’s details. This office had two entry points. It was one of the largest ones with two walled rooms and a large open-plan but oddly shaped space that took up most of the wedge. He signaled half the team to move forward with him toward the door at the end. Very quietly, he told Walker to do the same on the other hallway.

With any luck, there would be no friendly fire incident in the relatively tight quarters that would mean he’d be doing paperwork until St. Pat’s.

There were also no windows, and while that meant that with any luck no one saw them coming, it also meant they couldn’t really see what was inside until they entered. Casey was concerned they might be easily picked off as they entered the narrow doorways. They’d just have to storm in and hope for the best.

When Walker told him they were all in place on her side, Casey took a couple of calming breaths and told her, “On three.”

Then he counted it out, and in they went.

He heard Ellie cry out but ignored it beyond getting her location from the sound. He heard Jack, too, but it was obvious Ellie had him, so other than shooting a fast look in that direction to confirm and noting Ellie covered Jack with her body on the floor, he got down to doing one of the things he did best.

For the most part, Quinnell’s men decided dying wasn’t their priority, at least not this early in the morning against greater numbers, but a few fought back. Casey’s men put them quickly down, though, with only two fatalities among the prisoners.

When the shooting was over and they were restraining those who weren’t wounded, Casey began to consider how easily that had gone. It didn’t sit well with him because that itch in the back of his head told him something was wrong, that there was more to this than it appeared. Once he was certain things were well in hand, he looked around and spied Ellie and Jack. Bartowski was already there, and Jack, recognizing him, tore out of Ellie’s arms and ran to him. Victoria would have begun a streaming explanation of what had happened, but when he scooped up his son, all Jack did was cling.

They were going to have to work more on his communication skills, Casey thought, hugging his boy, who said only, “Daddy.”

Easing him away to make sure he was okay, Casey saw the purpling bruise on his cheek. “How’d you get that, little man?” he asked as calmly as he could manage and touched Jack’s cheek just below the bruise.

“I bit him,” Jack said proudly. Casey grinned at him.

“Good,” he told his son. Jack had bit his sister a few weeks earlier, and they’d been trying to get him to understand he couldn’t bite people. Riah would be pissed that Casey was countermanding her admonitions, though, since she was trying to convince their son that was not the way to deal with not getting his way or with his temper.

Then he realized she wasn’t there. He turned, looked around and took roll, so to speak. Everyone else was accounted for, and Casey once more thought this had been far too easy.

Now he knew why.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another Casey-only point of view chapter.

Casey _knew_ he shouldn’t have let Riah come along on this particular operation. Their daughter had been dead right when she’d objected: her mother had been stolen. He hadn’t even noticed, and that was the part that infuriated him most—well, right after the fact that his wife had been snatched in the first place—especially after he had reassured Victoria it wouldn’t happen. He handed his son to Ellie with a carefully controlled, “Stay with Ellie,” and looked for Walker.

His partner had her hands full with a couple of idiots who took too long to know they were beaten. She was supervising their reluctant removal.

As soon as the prisoners were out the door, she eyed Casey.

“Seen Riah?”

Walker shook her head, then she frowned, her forehead wrinkling slightly. “Wasn’t she with you?”

He nodded. “Can’t find her.”

Gesturing to a couple of the men who’d come in with her and Chuck from the other side of the office, she told Casey, “I’ll look. You see if Faraday’s camera caught anything.”

Thanking God Bartowski was busy with his sister, Casey nearly told Walker he wasn’t an idiot, but he probably should have asked the Canadian the moment he saw Riah was missing. Instead, he simply grunted.

There was no way he could get Bartowski out of the loop. He was going to hear Casey’s request, but maybe there’d be a miracle and he’d stay with his sister. “Faraday,” Casey barked signaling two of his team and heading for the door. The other man responded as he cleared it.

“Problem?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed at the man’s amused tone even though the Canadian wasn’t there to see it. “That camera of yours.”

“What about it?” the man asked, but this time he sounded no-nonsense.

“Still in place?” Casey signaled two other of his men to join him and the ones already with him.

“Yes.”

“It record or just let you have eyes?”

There was a pause, and Casey wondered if the man had to ask someone or if he was trying to figure out why Casey asked. “Yes.”

“Which?” he snapped.

Faraday’s, “Records,” followed quickly. Casey approved of both the promptness and the conciseness of the idiot’s response.

“Take a look about the point where we entered the rescue site,” he ordered.

“Mind telling me what I’m looking for?”

“Where my wife went.”

Thankfully, the man was smart enough not to crack a joke. Casey quickly gave his men orders to search the building. He knew Riah hadn’t decided to just have a look around for old time’s sake, so that said they missed something. He wasn’t sure how, unless some of his team had failed to properly do their job. In his head, he reviewed the floorplan, but there had been nothing that indicated a bolt hole someone shouldn’t have found and cleared.

“Casey?” Bartowski asked behind him.

He shot a look over his shoulder but kept moving.

“Casey?” the kid said again, his voice more pointed and persistent this time. Casey rolled his eyes and stopped, waited for Bartowski to catch up.

“Did I hear that right?” Chuck asked as he searched Casey’s face. “Mariah’s missing?”

His jaw worked a moment before he was able to loosen it. “You see where she went?”

Chuck shook his head. “She has to be here, though, right?”

Casey knew she didn’t, and Chuck should have known it as well. It belatedly occurred to him there had been a convenient exit within ten feet of the door through which they had entered the office where Ellie and Jack had been held. “Dietrich,” he barked this time. “Anyone leave besides prisoners?”

Before he got an answer, Faraday was in his ear. “Three men took Ad— _Casey_ into the office opposite the one where the hostages were.” About to ask which one, the other man said, “Across the hall from where the two of you entered—only she didn’t enter. They got her just after you went in.”

Casey ran back down the hall, Bartowski on his heels just as Dietrich told him only prisoners had exited the building. “Call V. H.,” he told them. He didn’t care which of the two did it. “Tell him to get Ariel and see if she knows anything about this damn building we don’t.”

They went over every single inch of the office Faraday claimed Riah had been taken into, but they couldn’t find even a fiber. If there was an exit in that room, Casey was damned if he could find it. No one else could, either. This one had old furniture and crates stored in it, so they moved each and looked below and behind them. Casey made the men open the crates and look inside, but there was nothing.

Just as they finished searching the office, his phone rang. Expecting it to be V. H., Casey ground out, “What?”

He was mad as hell, and he wasn’t going to play nicely with anyone until he had Riah back. He had made the mistake of not acting fast enough when Victoria called about Jack’s kidnapping, so there was no way in hell he’d wait to act this time.

“Sugar Bear?”

There was a distinct possibility Casey would explode since the hard anger inside intensified, burned through him, at both that name and that voice. He had the urge to hit something, anything. “I got your ‘note,’” he snapped nastily. “I’ve got my son, too, and if your new friends know what’s best for them, they’re going to leave my wife, _alive and unharmed_ , where I can find her. _Now_.”

To her credit, Ilsa didn’t prevaricate, and, for once, she didn’t take potshots at Riah. “There’s a tunnel,” she told him softly and rapidly. “The factory floor has a large drain where you can enter it. It leads to a warehouse in the next block.” She reeled off the address. “You don’t have much time.”

Then she hung up.

He glared at the phone, felt it cut into his palm where he crushed it.

Turning to Bartowski, he told him. “Take some men. Get Ellie and Jack. Take them to my house, and stay there.” Chuck looked like he was going to argue, so Casey gave him his hardest glare. “They have Riah, and they don’t need the other bookend as well. Get out of here so we have a fighting chance of getting her back.”

As he watched the kid retreat, he was surprised that had worked, that Bartowski had gone with no further argument. Knowing the other man, though, he might only be going to send his sister off before catching up to Casey. Casey wouldn’t mind having Walker along for this, but he sighed, called to Bartowski’s retreating back, “Take your own wife with you.”

After all, if this went any further in the toilet, Walker was as good as Ellie as an incentive for Bartowski to turn himself over. She needed to watch Chuck’s back, and she’d also see they all got home safely.

Chuck frowned at him, so Casey braced for an accusation that he had no faith in Bartowski, but the younger man apparently either changed his mind or realized that hadn’t been what Casey meant—not entirely, anyway.

“What?” Casey prompted gruffly, if only because Bartowski was clearly formulating some kind of response.

“I’ll see Jack and Ellie get home,” Chuck said, “but Sarah and I—“

“Are staying there to keep what’s in your noggin out of the bad guy’s hands,” Casey finished for him.

“Come on, Casey!”

That outrage was more like the Chuck Bartowski he was used to. There was a fleeting moment of fondness before Casey slammed it face-first into a steel door. “Remember the part about you being government property?” He amped up the glare. “Walker better put you in detention so they don’t get the only two versions of the Intersect that still breathe.”

“We can help,” Bartowski insisted.

“You can find yourself a hostage, and I already have one who’s a lot more important to me to recover than you.” Casey felt a little guilty for that, especially since those brown eyes of Bartowski’s suddenly bore the kind of soulful hurt normally only seen in a Labrador that had just been told it was a bad dog.

“I get it,” the kid said, and the annoying part was that Casey was certain he did, “but really, Casey? Let us help you get Mariah back.”

“I’m running out of time,” he bit out, “so this argument is finished. Find Walker and follow your orders.”

This time he didn’t wait to see if Bartowski obeyed. Ilsa had said he didn’t have much time, and he’d already wasted a few minutes indulging the kid.

His men had found the drain and opened it. To his surprise, Faraday waited beside the open hole.

“I’m going with you,” the other man told him. “Boss’s orders.”

So he’d been the one who talked to V. H., Casey thought sourly. He had a few inches on the man, so he loomed as best he could in order to punctuate what he had to say. “I was there when she was nearly killed,” he bit out, “and while she may think you’re innocent, as far as I’m concerned, the jury’s still out. Do anything that puts her in jeopardy, and I’ll put you down like a rabid dog.”

Annoyingly, Faraday didn’t look remotely intimidated. “You’re supposed to call him, by the way,” he told Casey blandly.

“I don’t have time,” he snapped. “Give me the highlights.”

“Ariel Taylor knew nothing about the building, told Adderly she’d never been in it.”

Somehow, Casey wasn’t surprised. Dietrich joined them, and Casey relayed the information Ilsa had provided, though he didn’t explain where he got it. Dietrich would approach the building from the street with the ISI team. They would leave enough men behind to round up any of Quinnell’s men who might come back.

The tunnel was narrow, and Casey had to duck. He wondered when it had been dug. It wasn’t finished enough to be an official conduit, so he couldn’t help wondering if Quinnell or Ford had had it dug as an escape hatch. He was still trying to figure out how they had managed to get past his men and get Riah, get her out, and not be seen leaving.

There was a slow rise, and he appreciated that there apparently wouldn’t be steps when they reached the other end, though he was going to have to crouch before he was out unless the low ceiling rose with it. Casey was more worried about going into a building blind—no floorplan, no eyes inside to tell him what they were walking into—than he was cracking his head on something.

Then Dietrich was in his ear. “I’ve got the floorplan. Assuming you’re headed straight in, you’ll enter a basement storage area, probably a small boiler room. There’s only one door. Outside it, you’ll find a hallway. Head left, and in about a hundred feet, you’ll find stairs to the first floor. There’s another staircase to the right in about twenty feet, but it leads to an exterior door.”

“What’s the first floor like?” Casey asked.

“Mostly open space. The company that leases it claims they’re an import/export operation, so expect merchandise in crates—but I suspect it’s really Bridges’ weapons.”

So either neat rows of stacked crates or semi-chaotic stacks, Casey thought.

“Offices are on the second floor. You’ll have to cross the warehouse to get to the stairs that will take you up.”

“Anything else I need to know?” Casey asked.

“Just that we’re in position. I’ll wait on your order to enter.”

Outside the door, he took a deep breath, thought through what would have to be done, and hoped like hell this wouldn’t go south. More, he hoped Riah was there and nothing had happened to her beyond being taken prisoner.

He listened carefully at the door, and then he nodded for the men to go. The boiler room wasn’t as small as Dietrich had made it sound, but at least there was no one waiting for them. The hallway outside was the same. They went rapidly and quietly up the stairs. Casey wished there was a second entrance so they were less vulnerable when they entered the warehouse proper.

That turned out to be prophetic. When they went through the door, they found a heavily armed welcoming party—one far larger than they could manage. Casey scoured their faces, but he didn’t recognize any of the men pointing weapons at him and his team, which made him wonder if they’d already moved Riah.

“Glad you could make it, Colonel Casey,” one of them said. “We’ve been waiting.” He smiled, and Casey wanted like hell to knock it off him. Shooting it off would give him pleasure, too. Since he was the apparent leader, Casey kept his weapon trained on him.  
He briefly wondered if Ilsa had only called him to get him here or if she had genuinely wanted him to have a chance at recovering Riah.

“If you want to see your wife alive, Colonel, tell your men to put down their weapons.”

There was an out there, but if he literally followed the order, he’d be the only armed man facing at least twenty-five armed men who looked like they knew exactly what to do with their own weapons. Casey, who was no fool, was going to give in, though he wouldn’t do it with any good grace.

“There’s usually an ‘or else’ there,” he growled, his eyes steady on the talker.

The man shrugged. “Okay, or else we’ll kill your men.”

That wasn’t the expected answer, Casey thought. It implied they wanted him alive, and he wondered why. If this had been an elaborate plan to get him, he simply couldn’t find the motive, other than Bartowski’s lady feelings would guarantee he’d come after him. Casey calculated the risks quickly. There were no guarantees they wouldn’t kill the men he’d brought with him if they disarmed, but he was going to bargain for them anyway. “How about they leave, and then I’ll put my weapon down.”

“Alright.”

Casey blinked. He didn’t trust the man he watched for a minute, and he certainly didn’t trust that he’d do what he’d just agreed. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Faraday look at him incredulously. Without looking at the ISI team leader, Casey ordered, “Lead them out, Faraday.”

“My boss gave me different orders,” the other man said, no inflection in his voice.

“Adderly isn’t here, and I give the orders on this operation,” Casey reminded him. “Retreat.”

The man opposite Casey sent enough men to make sure the others did, indeed, leave. He figured Faraday was smart enough to report to Dietrich, so he didn’t worry that the cavalry wouldn’t come. The question was whether or not they’d come quickly enough.

When the men who’d escorted Faraday and the others out returned, Casey reluctantly handed over his rifle. When the man held a hand out and flexed his fingers in the universal give-me signal, he handed over his SIG. If they wanted them, he decided, they’d have to find the other two sidearms themselves.

“Mind telling me what this is about?” Casey asked as the man gestured for him to follow. When he didn’t get an answer, he snarled, “I’m talking to you.”

“You’ll get your answers, Colonel, just not yet and not from me.”

“Just the help, that it?”

That needled the man, but it didn’t get him to spill, not that Casey really expected it to. They escorted him to an office, but only the man in charge entered with him. That was fine because Casey definitely recognized the man waiting.

He had Bailey Ford up against the wall with a forearm over the man’s throat and Casey’s weight crushing in on his windpipe after he connected a fist with the man’s left eye. “That’s for my son,” he ground out as he cocked the fist again, “but this one’s for my wife.”

It didn’t connect, though, because two men caught it and wrestled him away from the CIA traitor. Fleetingly, Casey thought the agency was apparently riddled with them if his own experience since the beginning of the Intersect mission was anything by which to judge.

The men holding him needed a little more help to keep Casey off Ford, and it soon arrived, dragged him back several feet.

Ford, the little prick, touched his own eye delicately, like he was trying to see if his makeup smudged or something. Casey’s eyes narrowed, his body tensed. The second these idiots let him go, he was going to pound the other man to a pulp.

“They warned me you were a homicidal maniac, Colonel,” Ford said, “but I would have thought concern for your wife would have made you temper that enough to find out if she was still breathing.”

“If she isn’t,” Casey ground out, “you’ll be dead in two seconds, guaranteed.” Ford paled a little. “Besides, you obviously wanted me here for a reason, and killing Riah isn’t the way to get whatever it is you want.”

Ford nodded at one of his goons holding Casey. The man stripped his com equipment from him, took it to Ford, who crushed it beneath his heel. “I doubt V. H. Adderly would want the Americans to know exactly what his daughter is.”

And there it was, Casey thought. “I’ve had nearly a decade of listening to that,” he snapped at Ford. “I’m more than a little tired of it since there’s never been anything to it.”

A soft snort came from the other man. “I heard about Laurance’s little taunts,” he acknowledged, “but I’m willing to let you see exactly why people have wanted her for years. She’s truly an exquisite bit of work, far more valuable than your Agent Carmichael, and for far different reasons.”

“And then what?” Casey asked, let his inherent sarcasm off its leash. “You’ll sell her to the highest bidder?”

This time Ford chuckled, an irritating sound that became even more irritating when it moved up the scale to a braying jackass’s laugh.

Casey shut up. The man was clearly a member of the talk-you-to-death bad guy club. All he had to do was wait.

“Some of my friends would like to, but she’s far too unique an asset to only get a single payment.” Ford shook his head. “She’s the kind of gift that keeps giving.”

Certain Ford had chosen his words to imply prostitution and push Casey’s buttons, he decided not to play. He was beginning to get the picture. If she was a viable Intersect, they could hold her, force her to flash, as Chuck called it, and sell the intel a piece at a time. He was surprised no one had really considered that with Bartowski, had instead wanted the Intersect itself.

“Restrain the Colonel so he’s less lethal,” Ford instructed, and Casey’s arms were wrestled around behind him. He wasn’t worried when the cuffs snapped around his wrists. He could get out of those, after all. There was a little more give than handcuffs normally allowed, though, so he eased his hands out from behind his back before realizing he could get them to his sides. That didn’t last long. They quickly added ankle shackles and then ran chains from those to each of his hands so he wouldn’t be able to get them close enough to one another to free himself.

“I’m well versed when it comes to your record, Colonel Casey,” Ford told him with a slight smile. “You aren’t getting a chance to break a bone and get loose.”

Casey still had enough movement he could get to one of his remaining guns, but he would be literally shooting from the hip, and the leg chains meant he’d be more easily disarmed. He’d wait a little longer, let Ford have his dog and pony show, if for no other reason than at least he’d have a better idea of why Riah remained a target despite very little evidence she was functional as an Intersect.

He let them shuffle him to a window that looked down at the open warehouse floor. Most of the men who’d been waiting for them when he and his team entered arrayed themselves around the space, waited. Casey wondered for what.

“Mariah Adderly is a very different mechanism than Charles Carmichael,” Ford said, sounding for all the world like a professor—not the kind you didn’t mind listening to but the kind who was pedantic as hell and would put you to sleep in under ten minutes. Casey hung on every word but resisted correcting her name as she inevitably did, and he didn’t look at the man, kept his eyes on whatever was being staged below.

“I was intrigued that in the second Intersect Carmichael was given self-defense skills he could easily be taught rather than offensive skills.”

“You’ve obviously never met Carmichael,” Casey deadpanned. After all, there were just some things Bartowski hadn’t had an aptitude for, and since he was never intended to work without a support team, offense wasn’t considered as valuable as the intel or the softer skills like languages. Not only that, Bartowski lacked the killer instinct, resisted any training that might give it to him, and likely would have found a way to overwrite any offensive programming. Defensive training, on the other hand, had been vital given the kinds of situations Bartowski got himself into on a disgustingly regular basis.

“ISI’s Montreal Project, in its early days, was less about the intel and more about training an operative who worked on auto-pilot, so to speak. They realized, especially after reading an early paper by Stephen Bartowski and several from former Soviet researchers that a combination of training, programming, and what we call the Intersect was ideal. Intelligent, malleable young minds still building neurons seemed the most practical, and there, Mariah Adderly shone. The others couldn’t do quite what she could, couldn’t process any of the implants, and several had a kind of brain damage as a result of even trying.”

Parts of that, Casey had guessed. Other parts Riah had told him herself after her father had sent the files to her. He waited to hear the unique part, to which Ford hadn’t managed to get yet.

“Unfortunately, your wife is erratic,” Ford said on a sigh. “Carmichael is, too, but his seems to be tied to emotions. In her case, it’s more that the cylinders don’t fire—bad sparkplugs. There are some who think a marriage between the CIA’s Intersect and ISI’s Montreal Project would smooth that out, make the ultimate weapon.”

Despite knowing Ford didn’t mean a literal marriage, Casey grunted, made the instinctive crack: “She’s already married.”

Ford snorted. “Not the kind of marriage I meant, Colonel. The tech can be merged, and then she’s likely to be fully-functional.”

He was tempted to ask _as what_? That was part of whatever they were going to show him, he suspected, so he stayed silent, hoped they got on with it so he could work out how to get them out of this before Ford and his buddies got the chance to play modern-day Dr. Frankenstein with his wife.

“ISI’s Dr. Houston and those who followed him noticed a strange anomaly in your wife, Colonel,” Ford continued. “When she’s extremely tired, when she’s emotionally distraught—especially when both conditions are present—the programming works as it’s designed to. Your wife has to be made dysfunctional to function, and that’s a dangerously unpredictable state.”

Shooting him a disgruntled look, Casey reviewed the things he’d seen her do that jibed with the other man’s words: breaking Jeff Barnes’s nose with an economy of motion and an instinctively precise targeting of that vulnerable part had startled even Casey, especially since she’d been sleep-deprived and emotionally strung out; the ways in which she was able to compartmentalize her emotions to do the job in front of her with lethal precision; that long ago afternoon on Mount Royal when she had taken out two highly trained agents and her mole, a young man she still regretted killing.

“Major Clack saw it first,” Ford continued, crossing his arms and eyeing Casey. “She was seven, and she put down two operatives without breaking a sweat—highly trained grown men, mind you—because they scared her.”

Casey frowned. He wanted to ask, wanted to know if that had been before or after her abduction.

Ford snorted, shook his head. “V. H. Adderly had to take her to work with him one evening, and she was roaming the building without permission. The two operatives were sent to round her up before she got into trouble. She disabled one and shot and killed the other with his service weapon. It happened just outside Clack’s office. He got her in his office and took the weapon. He called Dr. Houston, but by the time the man arrived, she had absolutely no recollection of the incident at all.”

As he studied Ford, Casey was careful not to let the man see the shock that reverberated through him. He was beginning to get a fuller picture not only of the taunts he’d endured from bad guys after his wife over the years but of just how damaged she might have been by what ISI had done to her.

“That’s when Clack got fully up to speed with what the Montreal Project was really for and ordered the operation shut down and cleaned,” the other man said, and there was a kind of glee in his voice Casey found especially distasteful. “When they went after her, they didn’t count on her resilience or her father’s persistence.”

So she was supposed to be dead like the other children on the list she’d told him about, and while he’d always known Clack was the ultimate pragmatist, Casey couldn’t help wondering why Riah’s godfather hadn’t followed through on that. Instead, he’d recruited her to ISI.

“Watch,” Ford said with a kind of quiet awe. “She thinks she’s managed to get lucky, her guard got careless, and she’s escaping.”

There were easily twenty men in the warehouse, and they all lifted their weapons on a signal from one of them. Riah, still armed, came cautiously through one of the doors below, and one of the men before her took a shot. Casey noticed he missed, which made him curious because armed as he was and at that close a range, that should have been impossible. She dropped the idiot with a single shot through the forehead. The others fired, too, and Casey finally decided they were firing blanks to make sure she wasn’t hurt since nothing appeared to hit her, not even her vest. That got every single one of them, except the ones who finally ran for cover, quickly dead.

Her ammunition was obviously live.

As he watched, one tried to come up behind her, but she must have heard him because she swung around and dropped him, too. She made a move for the outer door, but one of them cut her off—tried, to anyway—and if it weren’t for another hitting her with a taser, she’d probably have made it.

“You know what the real beauty of it is?” Ford asked, watching as four men below restrained her. He sounded weirdly satisfied and not at all concerned that he’d just lost twelve of his twenty men. “She’s the perfect assassin. She goes in, she does the job, and thirty minutes later she doesn’t remember a single detail about any of it.” The other man shook his head in wonder. “That’s why she’s more valuable than your Carmichael. When triggered, she can do any job, but if she’s caught, she can’t talk.”

 _She never talks_ , he remembered Bartowski babbling during the debacle with Kellett and Laurance, and it was true. It had just never occurred to Casey that she didn’t because she couldn’t.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t completely true. After all, she still recalled in vivid detail that afternoon on Mount Royal. François Rochambeau was still with her in living color. Casey wondered if that was because he had been her friend and because she felt crushing guilt for what she had had to do to him.

“Of course,” Ford continued, “we think we’ve found the right man to fix the flaws. Failing that, our man’s pretty sure a chemical cocktail can control the more unpredictable side effects.” He shook his head and looked at Casey. “No one, especially not her father, could understand why Clack recruited her, why the Major would take on emotionally damaged goods, but the man knew exactly what he was doing. His mistake was thinking he could contain her, and when he realized the liabilities and the instabilities in her programming, he bowed to her father, put her in ICOM, and occasionally took her out for a particularly delicate operation.”

Ford eyed Casey a second before returning his gaze to where a group of the remaining men below escorted Riah back the way she came. Casey noted they were mostly dragging her, and he wondered if she was hurt. They hadn’t been gentle when they restrained her, and his temper ticked up again. He noted the men’s features, would remember them later.

Now, even more than he already had, he wondered exactly what V. H. had been using her for. He couldn’t imagine the other man would use her as an assassin, mainly because that was not how V. H. preferred to operate.

“Of course, they’ve already tried drugs,” Ford continued, “and one of the reasons the Ring forced you to commit treason was the one with the most promise was the one you nearly sacrificed your career and your marriage to get.”

Casey’s jaw locked at the reminder of Keller blackmailing him into stealing the laudanol, tallied another debt Ford now owed for what he’d done to Casey’s family.

“You’re being remarkably quiet, Colonel,” Ford observed.

“You’re not getting her,” Casey promised.

“We already have her. The transport will be here soon, and this time there’s no one who’ll bow to reckless emotion to save her.”

That was a reference to Clack, who had always decried V. H.’s penchant for leading with his heart. It also confirmed for Casey that Clack wasn’t entirely the heartless bastard he’d always believed. V. H., though, would move heaven and earth to get her back—had done so more than once, after all—and Ford shouldn’t underestimate the man.

That left Casey, whose own emotions were rarely reckless except when it really mattered. He’d find a way to insure Ford didn’t get to keep her. “I won’t let you have her.”

Ford’s grin was unpleasant. “That’s why you get to die before we leave. I just thought you ought to know why.”

Casey nearly rolled his eyes. As he’d thought more than once, the bad guys really ought to get a better line of taunt, he thought.

Before he could bite out his own response, the door opened, and Ilsa and her henchman, Antoine du Montfort, strolled in. Well, in du Montfort’s case, limped in. Several months ago, Ilsa had tried to get Casey to help with a case; now he wondered if he’d done so whether any of this would have happened. He had a feeling that sooner or later someone would have taken Riah, so the particulars didn’t really matter. At least he better understood what they were after.

Unfortunately, if anyone outside of Quinnell and Ford knew what he’d just seen and been told, life was about to be far more complicated than it had been in the past. As long as the bad guys believed Riah wasn’t really functional, she was mostly left alone. News of what she could really do would change that.

“Casey.”

He didn’t respond, mainly because he was mad as hell, and she was part of the reason why. He also didn’t respond in part because he didn’t know if she was using an alias other than Ilsa Trinchina.

She turned to Ford, then. “Let’s get this over with. You have Adderly’s daughter, and Quinnell’s waiting for her.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if this time Ilsa really was on the other side. She had crossed the lines a lot in her career, but this time his wife was the one whose life was in jeopardy. If Ilsa was responsible for her death, their past would mean nothing to him: he’d kill Ilsa himself, preferably with his bare hands.

“Antoine will see to Colonel Casey,” she told Ford. “Get Miss Adderly, and let’s go.”

Ford actually made for the door. Casey watched, incredulous. Then he turned his attention to du Montfort. He calculated what damage he might be able to do given his restraints.

Once Ford was gone, Ilsa crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, something he’d never really seen her do before. “Hurry.”

The other man limped over to Casey and knelt. Casey was about to lift his boot and see if he had enough play in the chains connecting his shackles that he could kick the man, but then he realized the man had a key and was about to unlock him. He waited, watched the man’s movements, but the second he was free, he retrieved his backup piece and pressed it against the man’s temple. “Talk fast, Ilsa.”

“Undercover, Casey,” she told him, and that was apparently all the explanation she would offer. “Your little Riah is about to be spirited away. I assume you’d rather she wasn’t, so Antoine and I are going to assist you with her rescue.”

Dumbfounded, Casey, like an idiot, asked, “Why?”

“Because she needs to not fall into their hands.”

He studied her. If he had been standing in her shoes and if Riah wasn’t his wife, he would put a bullet in her head to keep her from being used against their side. Ilsa wasn’t exactly friendly to Riah, and if her agency knew what Ford had just spilled, Casey suspected a kill order was in place. After all, if this were all true, Riah could do a lot of damage with the wrong people controlling her.

“For God’s sake, Casey,” she said with some exasperation. “ _Everyone_ wants her out of the game, but our orders are to not kill her—not yet, anyway.”

So a bullet was on the table. “You’re just going to let me take her out of here?”

It was du Montfort who said, “We’re going to help you get her out of here.”

Ilsa raised her brows. “I suggest you get whatever it is out of her head or at least see to it she quits playing spy games.”

His teeth gritted. The truth was, Stephen Bartowski had told him before he died that it was better to leave what was in Riah’s head alone. Casey had no idea who might be able to do what Ilsa said—assuming the senior Bartowski had been wrong. “Plan on it,” he said, though he knew he would do whatever was best for Riah and kept her out of a bunker or a grave.

“Then let’s go.”

“Wait.” The other two turned to look at him. “Three of us against all of them?”

Ilsa smiled. “Your kind of odds.”

While that was true enough, this time Casey was unwilling to risk failure. He eyed du Montfort. Ford and his goons hadn’t taken his phone, so he fished it out, called Dietrich. Before the other man could say anything, Casey ordered, “Bring it. Ten men for sure, maybe more. Cruella and her henchman are on our side. We’ll meet you on the warehouse floor.”

Dietrich said, “Roger.”

“Watch the dead bodies,” Casey warned.

“Busy boy?”

“My wife’s work,” he admitted.

“Not like you, Casey.”

Dietrich’s amusement irritated him. “Just get your ass in here.”

Ilsa frowned at him. “Cruella?”

He grinned at her. “My daughter’s name for you—Cruella De Vil.”

They met Dietrich and Faraday with their men on the floor. Ilsa told him on the way that her team would take Quinnell simultaneously so he couldn’t make a run for it. Casey led the way to the door behind which Ford had disappeared, and then he worried that they might have had another exit through which they had already extracted Riah. He asked Dietrich, but the other man shook his head, told him there was no exit that way.

Looking at his old friend and Faraday, he told them and their men, “Ford’s mine. The rest are fair game.”

He and Faraday led, and they very efficiently removed the threats. Ford was in with Riah, and Casey took great pleasure in cold-cocking the man. He might have preferred a more satisfactory pounding, but he decided getting Riah out and away from anyone else who might decide to take possession of her was more important than doing considerable physical damage to the man. He let Dietrich’s team take Ford after Casey took the keys to Riah’s restraints off the unconscious man.

Once she was free, he looked her over. She seemed dazed, so he searched for bumps and bruises that might indicate yet another concussion. For years he had worried about the possible damage done by the ones she’d sustained earlier in her life. He probably should have worried more about what was in her head, he thought, and once more he wondered what she might have been doing while he was otherwise occupied.

V. H. Adderly had a lot of explaining to do, and if his father-in-law didn’t know the answers, then Major Jonathan B. Clack would damn well have to supply them. Casey would insist on knowing all of it this time.

Holding her tightly to him, Casey wondered if she had any idea of what she had just done—could do. Then he decided to test what Ford had said. He wouldn’t ask, would wait until they were home and see if she remembered killing twelve men with the kind of lethal efficiency normally only seen in movies. It had been a pretty impressive display, but Casey couldn’t help wishing she was not capable of doing that.

There had to be a way to insure she wouldn’t remain a target, a way short of killing her or incarcerating her—though killing her was more likely since anyone they missed in the mop up would remember, would, as Victoria put it, steal her and do what Ford and Quinnell had planned with her.

Riah’s arms were around his waist and her face buried in his chest. There was a weight there, about where her nose burrowed into his vest, a weight that had never been there when he thought about Bartowski’s possible fate. It occurred to him that if either Ford or Quinnell were taken alive and answered questions, then an awful lot of people were going to advocate for the bullet solution in order to prevent a repeat of the last couple of days.

If he killed Ford, though, he would lose his job, and he remembered again Riah’s contention that he would be retired with prejudice. Beckman would likely see to that in this case. He knew, after all, and it was time to make sure the number of people who did was as close to zero as possible.

“Let’s go home,” he told his wife softly. She nodded and pushed back from him.

“Jack?”

He kissed her. “By now, he’s at the house with his Woobie being spoiled rotten by his grandmothers.”

For one of the very few times in his career, he left the clean up to others. Before he took one of Dietrich’s cars and took his wife home, he made a very quiet suggestion to Mick Faraday. The other man nodded, and Casey left with a clean conscience.

After all, if the other man thought to ask, V. H. would simply make Casey’s suggestion an order.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, and it's Victoria's.

 

When Grandpa V. H.’s phone rang, he sighed and picked it up. He sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Victoria in Daddy’s office. When Grandpa V. H. looked at the phone’s screen, he looked really, really worried, which really worried her. Grandpa V. H. didn’t often look worried. He had that in common with Daddy.

“I expected to hear from my daughter,” he said, so Victoria thought he might be talking to her father. That made her relax a moment.

Then Grandpa V. H. sat up, and looked more alarmed as he listened to whatever was being said. Victoria got a really bad feeling, but if he was talking to Daddy, then at least he and her mum were probably okay. That left Jack and Aunt Ellie to worry about.

Her grandfather looked at her then and said, “Go get your grandmother.”

She was still worried about Jack, so she had a moment of confusion that made her ask, “Which one?”

“Ariel.”

As she ran out of the office, she felt kind of embarrassed since she should have known that was probably who he meant, so maybe, she thought, for just a moment, he meant Grandma Jane—but only because she hadn’t really had much sleep. Victoria hated making mistakes.

She was out of breath when she burst into her grandmother’s room, but Grandma Ariel wasn’t sleeping. She stood from her chair and closed her book. “Tell me on the way,” she said as she crossed rapidly to Victoria, took her by the hand and steered her back into the hallway.

“Someone called. I think it’s Daddy,” she told her grandmother as they strode down the hall. “Grandpa V. H. said to get you.”

Her grandmother looked grim, and that made Victoria think it really might be bad news.

When they got back to the office, her grandmother didn’t try to keep her out, which made Victoria think Grandma Ariel had forgotten she was there even though she was holding her hand. “That building your father used to own,” her grandfather said. “Casey wants to know if there’s anything about it that wasn’t on the floorplans.”

“I wouldn’t know,” her grandmother said, but there was a worried note rather than a cranky one. “I was never in it. We sold it after he died, but none of us went and looked at it.”

“No,” Grandpa V. H. said into the phone. “You go with Casey. Tell my son-in-law he’d better remember what he promised me when he married her, and he’d damned well better call me.”

Victoria froze. He hadn’t been talking to Daddy, then. He hung up and looked across at her and her grandmother. “They rescued Jack and Ellie Woodcomb, and they’re both fine. I’ll go up and let Ellie’s husband know in a few minutes.” He breathed deeply, rubbed his good hand over his jaw and sighed. “Mariah’s missing.”

Her grandmother dropped into a chair. Victoria stood stock-still, numb.

Daddy had promised Mummy wouldn’t get stolen. He’d _promised_ , she thought, and for a second, she was mad at Daddy for letting her mum get taken by the bad guys after saying he wouldn’t. Victoria felt a little dizzy, a little like she couldn’t breathe, and then she realized her grandfather had said Mummy was missing. That wasn’t the same as stolen, so maybe Mummy was chasing someone, like the man who hurt Jack.

She really hoped Mummy hurt him right back—or maybe Daddy would when he found her mum. Victoria was certain he’d find Mummy and bring her home.

Her grandfather’s phone rang again, and when she heard the name Diane, she knew he was talking to that mean, redheaded general Daddy worked for. Victoria listened shamelessly. After all, it was the only way she ever learned anything important, and this time she didn’t have to be sneaky to do it since no one had told her to go back to bed.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to learn from her grandfather’s side of the conversation. Grandpa V. H. just said some angry things about Mummy getting kidnapped, and he told General Beckman he had put ISI in charge of recovering her.

While he listened to Daddy’s boss, Grandpa V. H. looked at Victoria. She had a feeling he was about to suggest she leave. Then he sat forward, his eyes sharpening as he listened.

“His beacon went off?” her grandpa demanded in a voice that said that was really not good.

Victoria frowned, but then she remembered overhearing her mum talk about something called an operative locator beacon. She remembered Mummy explaining the last time Daddy had been gone that it was something that let his boss find him if something went wrong. She was pretty sure Grandpa V. H. meant Daddy’s beacon had gone off, and she began to wonder if she was going to end up an orphan after all.

If that happened, she would have to think about how to take care of Jack. She wasn’t going to let anyone separate them, so she worried about who they would have to live with. Grandma Ariel didn’t stay in one place much, but Victoria, who had heard stories from her mum and aunt Emma, didn’t think she’d like living like that. Grandma Jane was kind of old, and while she loved Daddy’s mum, she didn’t think Grandma Jane would want to try and keep up with Jack all the time. Aunt Dena and Aunt Julie would make good parents, but Victoria thought she’d rather have Aunt Emma, who was a lot like Mummy. Of course, Aunt Emma lived and worked in Chicago, and Victoria really didn’t want to live there all the time. Grandpa V. H. would make them live in Canada, which might not be so bad, but it was colder and snowier than Chicago even, so she didn’t think she’d like that.

The best thing all around would be for her mum and dad to come back and for them to all go home—their real home in Maryland.

Grandma Ariel put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Your father is like a cockroach, Victoria. He can survive everything. He’ll find your mother, and they’ll be home before you know it.”

Cockroaches were gross, so she was really mad at Grandma Ariel for saying Daddy was one, mainly because she knew that was normally an insult even though her grandma seemed to mean it as a compliment. “Don’t be mean about Daddy,” she said, and Victoria tried to sound scary-mean like Daddy did sometimes. “It’s not fair.”

Her grandmother turned her so she could see her face. “You’re right,” she said. “I just meant your father has an uncanny knack for survival.”

“It’s training,” Victoria cut in with a hard stare.

Grandma Ariel smiled at her. “He’s definitely very well trained.”

That sounded kind of like what Mummy once complained was patronizing. Victoria wasn’t sure what that meant, but she thought it meant she was being patted on the head like some people did to Jack when they didn’t know what else to do with him. She understood why Mummy had been mad at the man who had been patronizing her. Victoria, though, was mad at Grandma Ariel, really mad, because she’d said Daddy was well-trained in the same way people complimented dogs who did what they were supposed to do. After all, she had once heard her grandmother refer to Daddy as General Beckman’s pitbull, which was a kind of dog, so she figured that was how her grandma meant it.

“Mummy’s right,” Victoria told Grandma Ariel, whose face was suddenly puzzled. “You need to stop being nasty about my daddy. He loves us, and he takes care of us.”

Her grandmother now looked a little mad. “Your mother has surely taught you not to speak to grownups like that.”

“Your mum should have taught you that if you can’t say anything nice about Daddy, you shouldn’t say anything at all,” Victoria shot right back. She was tired of saying nothing, and it felt really good to be able to do something, even if it only made her grandma mad at her. Victoria might not be able to go rescue her parents, but maybe she could make Grandma Ariel be nicer when they got home.

The expression on her grandmother’s face was a mix of outrage and shock. Victoria didn’t care.

“That’s enough,” Grandpa V. H. said quietly but very firmly. “Both of you,” he added when Grandma Ariel turned toward him to say something in return. “Victoria’s right, Ariel. Casey’s been very good to our daughter and our grandchildren, so cut the man some slack.”

“I assume you meant Casey when you said someone’s beacon had been tripped,” Grandma Ariel said. Her voice didn’t sound angry, but she still looked it.

Grandpa V. H. studied Victoria a minute. She was afraid he was about to finally send her back to her room. He sighed. “Yes.” She could see he was trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he just said, “Diane will call when she knows more.”

His phone rang again, and he answered it. He listened, and then he said, “Use your discretion, and keep me informed,” before he hung up.

“Well?” Grandma Ariel had no patience, Victoria knew, and her question proved it.

“There was a small army waiting when they got to where Casey was told Mariah had been taken. They let all of them but Casey go. ISI and the FBI are working on a recovery plan.” He looked at Victoria again. “The Bartowskis are on their way with your brother and Ellie.” He hesitated, then added, “I suppose I better go tell Woodcomb.”

Victoria went with him. She thought Uncle Devon might cry; Clara did cry. Uncle Devon was so obviously relieved to know Aunt Ellie was coming home, and while she was glad Jack was coming home, too, Victoria would rather her parents were with him.

They left Uncle Devon and Clara to get dressed. On their way back downstairs, Grandpa V. H. stopped her on the landing of the second floor. “Your parents are very resourceful, Victoria, and there are a number of very good people there to help them.”

She stared up at him, wondered if he was going to tell her Mummy and Daddy would be fine or if he’d tell her the truth: that they might not be. She could tell he was worried, but Victoria decided she’d rather be told the truth than something that might be a lie.

“There’s a good chance they’ll be home soon,” he said, “but there’s also a chance they won’t.”

He watched her closely, like she might break or something, but Victoria wasn’t going to break unless her parents didn’t come home. Even then, she would have to be strong for Jack because he would be too young to understand what happened. She just nodded at her grandpa. He cocked his head, gave her a funny look, and muttered something about being her parents’ daughter, then led her to wait in the living room they almost never used.

Because hardly anyone had used the front door since Jack was stolen, Victoria was surprised when Aunt Walker and Uncle Chuck brought Jack and Aunt Ellie through the front door. There were a lot of people shouting out there and a lot of flashing lights. Victoria figured the neighbors were going to be mad because it was still dark out and most people would be trying to sleep.

Aunt Ellie set Jack on his feet so she could hug Uncle Devon and Clara, whom Uncle Devon had brought downstairs.

Jack ran toward Victoria and asked, “Mummy?”

There was a lump in her throat. “Not here,” she said quietly. Jack looked puzzled, but then he often looked that way. Victoria always thought it was because he was kind of dumb, but maybe it was just because he had expected their mum to be at home because she almost always was.

“Saw Daddy,” Jack said and gave a firm nod. “Bit the man.”

She frowned, thought at first that Daddy might have bit someone, but then she realized Jack meant he had bit the man who hit him. “Does it hurt?”

Jack looked a lot like pictures she’d seen of Daddy when he was really little, but the look on his face as he cocked his head to the side and thought really reminded her of their mum. “Some.”

Taking her little brother by the hand, she walked him to the kitchen. The grownups were all talking to Ellie, asking her questions, so no one noticed when she took Jack to the kitchen. The first time their cousins let her play baseball with them, she’d taken what Daddy called a line drive to the face. He told her she was lucky nothing was broken, but it had hurt really badly. Daddy had given her a plastic bag full of ice wrapped in a towel and told her to hold it against her swollen cheek. She made Jack sit at the table and moved a chair so she could reach the plastic sandwich bags in the cabinet above the stove. Then she filled it with ice, sealed it closed, found a dish towel to wrap around it, and took it to Jack. She told him what Daddy had told her.

“Food?”

She didn’t know how to cook, but she did know how to make a sandwich. Jack liked almond butter with strawberry jam best, so she found all the stuff, toasted a couple of slices of the whole wheat bread Mummy had made the day before, and then set the plate with the sandwich in front of him. Then she remembered Mummy always gave him milk to drink, so she got a juice glass from the cabinet and the milk from the fridge and gave him some.

Victoria almost reminded him to chew, but then she wondered if they had fed him at all given how fast he ate. She wondered, too, if he choked if she could make it stop. Jack was little enough she ought to be able to do that thing that made people spit up stuff they were choking on.

When he finished eating and finished the glass of milk, she got a paper towel, wet it, and wiped his face and hands before reminding him to use the bag of ice she’d given him. She rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

“Woobie,” Jack said, and he sounded kind of sleepy.

Victoria knew Mummy would make him take a bath before he went to bed, but Daddy would ask him questions first. Jack got really cranky when he was tired, so she debated a minute. She decided to ask questions and then skip the bath.

“He’s in your room waiting,” she told him. “Can you tell me about getting stolen?”

Jack shrugged. “Men took us.”

“I knew that,” she reminded him.

Her little brother shrugged again. “Big empty building.”

She gave a hard sigh. “Knew that, too.”

“The man was mad Daddy stole Clara back.”

For just a second, Victoria stared in surprise. That was the most words she’d heard Jack string together in one go, and it was actually a sentence. Jack normally just talked in phrases. “I know that, too.”

“Didn’t see Mummy,” Jack said. “Where she?”

Victoria chewed her lower lip. “With Daddy,” she said, and she really hoped that was true.

Jack, though, shook his head and said, “No.” He shook his head again. “Mummy not there.”

That sounded pretty insistent. Victoria sighed. “Daddy’s looking for her.”

This time, Jack stared at her, and Victoria thought he was going to cry. She didn’t want him to cry because she was pretty sure she would, too. “Want Mummy.”

“Me, too,” she admitted.

“Want Woobie.”

Before she could respond, Grandpa V. H. came in. He stopped just inside the door and stared. “I see you’re taking good care of your brother.”

He made it sound like Victoria wouldn’t usually, which kind of made her mad.

“Jack tell you anything?”

She shook her head. Grandpa V. H. tried asking Jack some stuff, but all her brother did was say again and again, “Want Mummy,” in an increasingly angry voice.

“I’ll take him upstairs,” she finally cut in before Grandpa V. H. could ask another question. She’d seen Jack have a lot of temper tantrums, and he was right on the edge. Victoria figured none of them needed that at the moment. “He’s tired.”

Their grandfather nodded, but she thought he wanted to keep asking Jack stuff.

In Jack’s room, he made a beeline for the bed and for Woobie. Victoria watched him clutch the stuffed dog, and decided he might as well get some sleep. She’d stay with him, make sure no one else did anything to him. She found clean pajamas in a drawer, made him take his clothes off and change, and then she turned back his covers and told him to get in bed.

“Want Mummy,” he told her when she bent to pick up the bag of ice he’d dropped.

“Mummy’s not here,” she reminded him.

“Want Mummy. Want Daddy,” he insisted.

“So do I,” she admitted. “Maybe they’ll be here when you wake up—kind of like Santa.”

Jack’s face said he wasn’t going to bed. She sighed. “Come on, then.”

He brought Woobie. Victoria led him down the stairs. They sat on the top one of the last flight where they could see both the front door and down the hallway to the kitchen. They could also listen to the grownups talk. Jack leaned into her, and Victoria wondered if he would go to sleep sitting there. She thought it might be a good thing if he did. They’d just wait there until their mum and dad came home, and then Daddy could carry him up to bed.

Victoria might have fallen asleep because there were suddenly a lot of loud voices downstairs, and she was relieved to hear that one of them was Daddy’s. Victoria sagged when she then heard Mummy’s. If Jack hadn’t been asleep against her, she would have run down to see them. Instead, she sat where she was and waited. The rest of the family was down there, so it took a while to make the explanations. It sounded like Ilsa and the man in the Paddington Bear coat had helped Daddy escape.

What surprised her was that no one asked why Mummy had been stolen—and no one said, either.

After a while, Daddy led Aunt Ellie into the entryway and stood below where Victoria sat with Jack.

“How much have you done with your dad’s research?” Daddy asked Aunt Ellie.

She crossed her arms. “I should pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, John.”

“Your father took a look at what’s in Riah’s head once—or at least the designs for it. He told me that removing it was more dangerous than leaving it. Tonight made crystal clear that leaving it is actually far more dangerous to her. I’m going to ask again, Ellie: how much have you done with his research?”

Victoria held her breath, wondered what Daddy meant.

“I’ve studied all his files, all his research trying to understand Chuck,” she said. “Between that and my work in neurology, I’ve got a better handle on the physical and biological parts of Dad’s work than he had, though I’m not good with tech part. Chuck’s better at that. Why?”

“Your father got the Intersect out of your brother’s head once. Then the moron put it right back in. Think if I got you the information on what was done to Riah the two of you could manage the same for her?”

Victoria held her breath. She didn’t want to let them know she was there, and she wanted to hear this because she wanted to know about the Intersect. Daddy had just admitted that Uncle Chuck really had one. It sounded kind of like Mummy did, too.

“I have no idea,” Aunt Ellie said. “If Dad thought it was too dangerous, it probably is.”

“Ellie,” Daddy said, and there was a kind of urgency in his voice Victoria had never heard before, “what she has is far less benign than what Chuck has. It has to come out, or she’s going to wind up dead.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, John,” Ellie said, and Victoria thought she didn’t sound like she believed Daddy.

“It’s true,” he told her. “Someone will order her death, Ellie, and that’s assuming they don’t simply drop her in a bunker to protect themselves. What happened tonight is the only other option, because as long as people know about this, they’re going to try and get her. She needs that out of her head.” Daddy reached out and took Aunt Ellie by her upper arms. “You’re the only person I trust to look, to honestly tell me if it can be done.”

Aunt Ellie sighed, pushed back her hair when Daddy let her go. “Okay. I’ll take a look, but I make no promises, John. Chuck will have to look, too, because he might have to engineer something to make it possible to remove it.”

Daddy actually hugged Aunt Ellie then and rumbled a “thanks” before they went back into the living room with the others.

Victoria sat and puzzled over what they said. It sounded like Mummy had something in her brain that might kill her, kind of like a tumor. That was bad, she knew, because she’d heard about people with brain tumors. Why someone would want to kill her for getting one, though, Victoria didn’t understand. Maybe she was getting it all wrong because she was tired. That was probably it, especially since she was pretty sure the Intersect wasn’t a tumor or Uncle Chuck wouldn’t have put it back in his own head.

She wondered if she and Jack might get Intersects, if they were contagious or something, and she looked down at her little brother and wondered if that was why he’d been stolen.

As she considered whether or not to ask Daddy or Uncle Chuck that, her parents started up the stairs. Daddy had an arm over her mum’s shoulders, and Mummy had an arm around his waist. They looked up, stopped a second when they saw her and Jack sitting there. Then Mummy rushed up the stairs and knelt on a step just below them. Daddy was right behind her.

Mummy stroked a hand over Victoria’s head and cheek then hugged her close. She kissed Victoria, and then she looked at Jack’s face. Mummy didn’t look very happy about the bruise, Victoria saw. Mummy looked like that bruise might make her cry.

“Bed,” Daddy said, and he reached down and scooped Jack off the floor. Mummy helped Victoria up.

“I fed Jack a sandwich,” she told Mummy as they followed Daddy, “and I gave him some ice for his face.”

Mummy smiled and hugged her close to her side. “Thank you.”

“How come they stole you?”

Her mum looked down at her. Victoria watched her expression, wondered if she would tell her. Her mum’s face was very serious when she said, “That’s not something you should worry about, Victoria.”

“It could happen again,” she said.

“It could,” Mummy admitted, “but a lot of things that could happen often don’t. Let’s not worry about it, alright?”

Victoria knew she would, though. She knew Daddy would and so would Grandpa V. H. She hoped Aunt Ellie could get whatever was in her mum’s head out so she would be safe.

“Now,” Mummy said as she steered Victoria inside Mummy and Daddy’s room and closed the door while Daddy put Jack down on their bed. “About that Beretta your father bought you.”

That, Victoria knew, was deflection. Daddy had told her it was a good strategy when she wanted people to get off a subject she needed to not discuss. She had a feeling Daddy had only meant her to use it when the spy stuff came up.

Daddy was the one who answered. “She’s only allowed to touch it when I’m with her.”

Mummy folded her arms over her chest and gave him her _go on_ expression.

This time Daddy tried a bit of deflection. “How did you know?”

“You aren’t likely to have a gun case with our daughter’s initials on it.” She dropped her arms and added. “I moved that case a couple of times in the gun safe before I noticed, so I opened it. You’re not a fan of Beretta’s, and you’re certainly not in need of a ‘child’s first gun.’”

Since he was busted, Daddy apparently decided he might as well fully own up. He told Mummy why he bought it, explained the rules he’d given Victoria for it, and then praised her skill with it.

Mummy listened without interrupting, which was why, Victoria thought, he explained a lot more than he normally would. That was kind of Mummy’s secret weapon. When she just looked at you and listened intently, you felt compelled to tell her more and more to get her to react, good or bad. When he finished, Mummy sighed. “She has her eye on a Ruger.”

“How did you know?” Victoria demanded. Maybe the thing in Mummy’s head let her read minds because she often seemed to.

“Learn to clear your search history when you use my iPad or my laptop,” Mummy said.

“I want a SIG like yours,” she told Daddy since her mum wasn’t objecting to her owning the Beretta or lecturing Daddy for having bought it after she’d told him not to, “but they’re kind of heavy. I’ll have a wait a while.”

Daddy shot a look at Mummy. “A long while.”

“Can Santa bring me the Ruger—or maybe the Browning I’ve been looking at?” She gave him the big eyes, though it might not work this time. She’d mostly stuck to looking at handguns Daddy’s Guns & Ammo said were good choices for kids, but she’d really like to have something with more firepower.

He looked at Mummy for several seconds before saying, “We’ll see.”

In other words, this time Mummy would get to make the decision. Victoria considered how best to convince her mother she was responsible enough for a new gun.

When her mum went to get a shower, Victoria looked at Daddy. “I heard you talking to Aunt Ellie.”

Daddy watched her closely, and she got the impression he was trying to decide what to say.

“Is Mummy going to be safe? Will someone else take her away?”

As she watched him walk around the bed to where she sat, she reminded herself that Mummy said he wouldn’t lie to her. Of course, Mummy also said he just wouldn’t answer if it meant he’d have to. He sat down next to her. “Not if I can help it.”

“What if you aren’t here when they come for her?”

He looked really tired then. “That’s possible,” he admitted, and that scared Victoria a little, made her wish he’d lied or not said anything. “If Ellie can fix your mom, then no one will try. That’s why I asked her what I did.” He picked up her hand and held it. “Your mom’s special, Victoria, and not just because of something in her head.” She watched him as he tried to pick words.

When he said nothing else, she asked, “What Aunt Ellie’s going to do to her won’t change that, will it?”

“No,” Daddy said, and she noticed he didn’t even have to think about it. “It might change her, but it won’t change how we feel about her, right?”

She nodded, mainly because she knew he expected her to. “You’re not supposed to tell me anything, are you?”

He kind of laughed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too smart for your own good?”

“All the time,” she admitted.

Daddy pulled her over and hugged her close, kissed the top of her head. “That’s not a bad thing, Victoria,” he told her, “but you’re too young to get involved in things the way you did the last two days.”

“But I helped,” she reminded him.

His eyes met hers, and she could see the kind of worry he normally only gave Mummy there. “You did, and if you hadn’t, it would have taken longer to get Jack back. However,” and he stressed that word, “you could have endangered yourself and your friends by doing what you did, and those are not acceptable risks.”

“No endangering civilians,” she grumbled.

Daddy snorted. “Your mother’s right,” he told her. “You really do need to hear a lot less of what goes on around you.” He let her go, stood up and moved to find clothes to sleep in. “On the other hand, one of these days you’ll make a damned fine spy—if that’s what you choose to do.” He started toward the bathroom. “Watch Jack.”

Her brother was in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. She watched him breathe and figured that would always be her job. Jack could apparently get into the kinds of trouble she never had.

As she watched, his eyes opened, and he blinked up at her. “Mummy?”

Victoria could heard the water running in the bathroom. “In the shower,” she said, and she made a decision. “Tomorrow, I’m going to start teaching you stuff, like how to get away from grownups trying to steal you.”

Jack blinked again, and after a moment, he nodded, turned on his side, and went back to sleep.

Brothers, Victoria thought. She’d have to hope he could control his body long enough to be able to do what she needed to teach him. Jack had held himself together pretty well, and sometimes he was pretty smart. She suspected he’d be easy to teach—if she could just get him to focus.

Victoria lay down on Mummy’s side of the bed and listened to his snuffling breathing. Her own eyes got kind of heavy. She drifted off thinking that maybe the two of them could figure out how to help Daddy keep Mummy safe.

First, though, she had to find out exactly what an Intersect did.


End file.
